


An Independent Will

by penhales



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Blood Drinking, Family Drama, Slow Burn, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhales/pseuds/penhales
Summary: Sarah flees to Vienna after her transformation, believing that she has slain Alfred, but she has miscalculated. Alfred awakes reborn into dark blood in the company of two vampires and is left with no choice but to join their search for the lost fledgling. The Count is faced with a decision for the better of his family and subjects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! This is admittedly my first ever vampire-including work of fanfiction. I've always loved reading and watching vampire stories, but Tanz der Vampire is the first of its kind to seize my imagination with the host of unanswered questions left at the end of the stage show. This story is a bit of canon divergence, as Sarah doesn't wait to see Alfred transform and decides to leave on her own. I felt that the play left the story of each character somewhat unfinished, so I'm writing this in an attempt to bring a little closure. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> To establish this early, I'll include a few important notes so no one reads something they're not really looking to read:  
> -The female original characters are not really main characters and interact mostly with Sarah alone, this story is still centered around the original story's cast.  
> -This is story is likely to have a Graf von Krolock/Sarah track, but as the dynamic stands in the play, that doesn't really work. I guess the point of this is don't worry about uncomfortable power imbalances too much, they're not permanent to my story.

The initial weeks passed since Sarah's turning had been remarkably bloody, lonely weeks. She understood virtually none of her new-found culture and struggled to make her way after landing in Vienna. The city was full of society and pulsing, breathing life in a way that her home shtetl, now far behind her, simply wasn't. Pursuing life was the easy choice, once she was filled from the inside with death. It was death that pushed her into the arms of the city's anonymity. 

She was certain that Alfred couldn’t have lived. Drained of his life force, he'd laid on the ground near her, weak and struggling. She could taste his blood still warm on her tongue, and longed for another deep drink, but horror slowly filled her as her hunger subsided. Once the fear has built within her, she’d taken off running. The villagers would find her and kill her, yes, but that paled in comparison to what the Count might subject her to. Alfred was not meant to be hers, and her life still belonged to him, should he choose to claim the rest of it. Sarah couldn't imagine what kind of pain and torture she'd encounter by his hand for her insolence. He was so much more powerful than she was, like a great, ancient monster of the forest against a newborn deer. 

The Count hadn't been a man, after all, as she'd hoped he might turn out to be. He was a god. And then, trading in her own life for power and eternity, she was a god too. And what would it all mean for her? She had no connection to anyone like her except for the Count and his lithe, scheming son, and she couldn't picture spending that eternity with them or with the beasts rotting away in their guest chambers. At the best, she'd had access to a large bath and a comfortable bedroom, and he'd supplied her with finery like Sarah had never owned in her short life. At the worst, the Count had been cold and aloof, hardly speaking with her except to offer vague promises of love and freedom, while his son chased after Alfred like a child after a much desired sweetie. They enjoyed the pleasures of the world while their family slept deep in the earth and the village supplied to their needs. Sarah knew by that alone that she and Alfred were little more than cattle to them, no better than sheep among wolves. 

She hadn't known what to expect, then, of the vampires living in Vienna. 

They were certainly far more elegant, fashionable, and well-kept than the vampires she had seen before at the castle. Sarah could hardly tell them apart from the humans around them, just by looking with her eyes. Even their fingernails were meticulously kept and they all maintained rosy cheeks - certainly with the help of paints and powders. By comparison, she felt pallid and plain-looking. And they all made hiding their fangs look so easy. She didn't know where they found the caps for their teeth, but each pointed fang was carefully concealed under a smooth top that gave away no hint of a sharp edge. She wished she knew such tricks to keep her own plain features hidden away under elegance and free-flowing riches, but Sarah had left all chances of a sponsor behind her in the Count's castle. 

Sarah had tried to hunt carefully, but as new as she was to the thirst, it was difficult to control herself when she was hungry enough. She expended so much energy hiding during the days and scouting for easy prey at night.

Eliza had found her then, when she was careless with a fresh slaying. Sarah had looked like a half crazed nightmare; wild curls and blood staining her young face, spilling down onto her shirt. Sarah only barely remembered having been confronted by her, the intoxication from her recent blood lust still obscuring most of her senses. She had become immediately aware that she couldn't smell Eliza or hear her heart beat; the only signs that set the vampires apart from the people of Vienna. It was enough to ensure Sarah didn't bolt on the sight of her.

"Whatever are you doing?"

Sarah had flexed her jaw, the blood pumping sharply through the vessels in her face and throat first, burning down through her very heart. Speaking was too difficult when the feeding had just ended.   
  
Eliza had placed her hands on her hips and tutted at her then.   
  
"Sweetling, you've just eaten one of our clients. It is incredibly rude of you."

Sarah licked the blood from the outside of her mouth and sighed from the ecstasy of her satiation.   
  
"I didn't know he was yours."

"Clearly not, dear."  
  
Eliza had passed her handkerchief then, and Sarah could see that she was clearly a woman of a certain...standing. She was decked out in exquisite finery, with jet black hair worked into a neat chignon. Her irises were inky black and her skin was a warm olive tone. She looked the embodiment of Vienna's vampire culture; decadent, exotic, and deadly.

"I am prepared forgive you for your mistake, should you make reparation to my liking."

Sarah nodded, very aware that Eliza was in a station far above her own. And she was in no position to refuse an offer from a woman of Eliza's wealth and stature, let alone an offer from a fellow night's bride of that wealth and stature.

"If you'll pardon my forwardness, I can see that you haven't found much of a position here in our fine city."

"No."

"And I can see that you haven't seen a clothier since your arrival."

Eliza gestured loosely at her. It was a man's shirt tucked into breeches, matched with a ratty coat. The easiest way to and around Vienna had been masquerading as a young boy, until then, and she hadn't found anything else suitable to wear. 

"But you have a lovely bone structure and I can see that you're as new as a fresh daisy. I have only one further question."

"Anything."

"How long have you been running from the one who made you?"

Sarah let her eyes fall to the floor. Running, indeed. Praying he'd never find her. Praying to a god who would no longer recognize her for fruits of worship no longer within her reach. She'd run like the wind, yes.

"Not long. A month, perhaps more."

Eliza nodded sympathetically, much to Sarah's surprise.

"For the moment, I am in need of a serving girl. You will not be required to speak much, at least until we can improve that accent of yours, but the gentlemen who frequent our facility will still appreciate your voice nonetheless."

Sarah finished wiping the blood way from her face and drew herself up to her full height. It exposed more of her to the light, and she could see Eliza’s eyes carefully appraising her figure and condition.

"What a lovely shape you have. I can certainly see why someone would want to immortalize that face."

The corner of Eliza's mouth tugged upwards, but only a little. Only enough to show her triumph at having been the one to catch her. 

"Even so, pet, you must earn your keep. Even in our world of beauty and endless time, you must work for the things that you want. You must make friends."

Eliza offered her a delicate, gloved hand. 

"I would love to be the first. Welcome to Vienna, darling."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alfred is a wreck. Hope y'all enjoy chapter two!

Upon waking, Alfred knew it was a nightmare. It had to be.

His throat stung tremendously and a heavy perfume made the air around him difficult to breathe. The silken sheets were cool against the fevered heat of his skin and someone was attempting to use a damp cloth to ease the heat of his forehead. Lilting, prattling tones sifted over him and he realized they were deep in conversation, both voices rich like warm mulled wine, but one lower in pitch than the other.

"You great impatient thing! You musn't rush him!"

"I have been delayed for long enough."

"She's plainly horrid. I do not understand your interest."

"You are speaking from a place of selfish contempt. Quiet."

Alfred, for a moment, refused to open his eyes. If he could lull himself to sleep again, the nightmare would end sooner, but the chances of sleep coming again were slim with their hissing voices weaving their incessant argument over him. 

"Vati, I only meant that she misbehaved horribly. She is  _your_ charge, after all."

Somehow the scene he found with his eyes open was infinitely worse than the nightmare he believed he was having with them shut. 

Herbert leaned over him, blonde hair loose and cascading over his silken robe-clad shoulder. Nearby, the Count paced by the foot of the bed, looking furious and distraught all at once. He was slightly disheveled and still dressed in his ornate waistcoat from the ball, whereas Herbert had clearly long-since traded in his own for a more comfortable ensemble. 

Alfred's eyelids felt like stones sinking into sand and they burned in their sockets. His head, too, had been assaulted by blinding pain and he wasn't sure whether he might be sick or die there in the bed. Herbert touched his forehead, but he was too tired to flinch away from him and his hand was pleasantly cool against the burning heat of his forehead. 

"Oh, he looks dreadful, poor lamb. Your girl made poor work of him."

Alfred heard the awful sound of flesh tearing and nearly choked when the blood started pouring down into his throat. It tasted like still pond water to him and for a moment he thought he might gag. 

"Not very good, I know, but it will help."

The Count watched them with wild and unamused eyes, but Alfred could feel himself settling, the more of Herbert's blood he took. It was difficult to let go when Herbert began to draw his arm away, but he was stronger than Alfred and retrieved himself without too much of a fight. 

"Too much of that isn't good for you, pet."

The cold hit him like a blast of icy wind, and with it, an enormous pain in his mouth and fingers. Herbert's hand fluttered anxiously around his head, but he could scarcely feel it against the cold ripping through him. 

"He's completing the change, Vater."

"It would seem so."

His heart throbbed painfully and heavily, as if it churned mud through his veins. Both of the vampires were silent and very still, watching him every second that he shivered and cried out. They couldn't help him, though they didn't seem to be interested in doing so in the first place, and he felt his heart slowly stopping, screeching to a distinct halt. What had been an icy wind felt only of numbness, and what had been a sharp pain in his hands felt of no more than a dull ache in his finger joints. The stinging in his neck had vanished and his mouth only slightly hurt. He sat up carefully to face them, his breathing calm and even.

Herbert was looking at him, appraising him, and his lips were parted in a mixture of wonder and anticipation. 

"How do you feel?"

Alfred flexed his longer, narrower fingers and ran his tongue over his...fangs. The horror that washed over him was indescribable. 

"You've...corrupted me."

Herbert's brows threaded together and he scoffed contemptuously.

"Me? Oh, no, darling. It wasn't I."

"How?"

It was more a statement than a question.

"Your lady love, I'm afraid. I'm no happier telling you than you are to be hearing this, of course."

 Alfred felt, inexplicably, almost nothing. An empty bitterness filled him, but no sorrow bit at him as he expected it to. His eyes met the Count's and the bitterness only spread when he saw the grim expression crossing the elder vampire's face. It  _was_  Herbert, then.

"You're lying to me."

"I am not and your very suggestion offends me."

He was furious. To have turned him and then have the gall to try to blame Sarah. Alfred remembered with some grief that she had in fact bitten him, that much had been true, but he refused to pass judgement on her for the Count's corruption of her blood. 

"And you. You bit her. You bit Sarah and you changed her. You poisoned her blood, her mind."

The grim expression on the Count's face deepened and he cast his eyes down.

"We do not expect you to understand this, Alfred. This is a new lifetime for you. A new eternity. It is a gift."

"It is no gift!"

He felt himself lurch forward as if lunging at the Count. If he'd the strength, Alfred knew he would have tried to kill them both, but his limbs were still weak and new from rebirth, and Herbert's hand pressed him softly back onto his pillow. 

"If you struggle like that, you'll make yourself ill and ruin that lovely complexion."

Unfazed by Alfred's aggression, the Count took up his pacing once more.

"And where is Sarah? Where are you keeping her?"

"Therein lies our problem, young Alfred. She has fled."

"What do you mean by that?"

Herbert gently smoothed Alfred's hair back with his spindled fingers and sighed.

"Dear Sarah left you there in the ice and snow. We found you battling between life and death."

 He swatted Herbert's hand away indignantly.

"I don't believe you. You're keeping her somewhere in the bowels of this castle."

 "You are a very silly boy, indeed."

He swatted another of Herbert's hands away. The Count was glowering at him bitterly and he matched the elder vampire's expression with equal disdain. 

"You must have seen where she went. You were with her last."

"She was with me one moment and then when I woke, I was here with the both of you. And you're still lying!"

A look passed between the Count and his son briefly, though not long enough for Alfred to decipher its meaning. Herbert lowered his voice to a soothing croon.

"We need your help, darling. I know this is difficult for you, but as long as she's out there on her own, she's putting all of us at risk. We need to know where she's gone."

"If I knew where she was, I would be going after her myself rather than wasting another moment here."

The Count sneered at him and for a moment he anticipated being struck like an insolent child. Professor Abronsius had no trouble striking him whether he was in the wrong or not, but it seemed unfitting of a man of the Count's stature. A man like the Count would call his servant to do it instead. At the exact moment the thought crossed his mind, the Count snapped his fingers together and called for his hunchback,

"Koukol!"

The wretched creature dragged himself into the room at that moment's notice and Alfred wondered how long he'd been lurking outside. 

"You will ready the horses."

Alfred looked to Herbert for some clue of what had changed in the few moments of silence, but the viscount gave nothing away. He likely knew better than to publicly question his father's orders. Alfred  was no son of his and therefore afforded him no such obedience. 

"What do you mean? So you can do away with me?"

The Count glanced at him, but didn't respond to him. 

"Koukol, see that the family are still accommodated comfortably. You may direct any disturbances to Yoine Chagal; he will manage the estate in my absence."

Koukol was sent away with a dismissive wave of his master's hand.

"And you."

The Count aimed a terrifyingly sharp finger at Alfred. 

"You will be coming with me."

Alfred had begun to voice his dissent when Herbert spoke up first. 

"Vati, I've been very good. Am I to stay here alone and miss all of the fun?"

The Count arched a quizzical brow at his son's request.

"I am surprised, my son."

"I may not be interested in finding your ingenue, but I will be very useful to you, I swear it."

Turning his back on them, he sighed heavily. 

"I suppose you  _have_  earned it. You've behaved well this century."

Herbert was positively beaming at his father's concession, if any creature of the night was truly capable of doing so. 

"Oh, Vati, I truly have. I will be a loyal accessory to your every endeavor."

Alfred was sure that the Count could hear some insincerity in Herbert's voice, but he gave no indication that he had. 

Whatever life force kept the ancient being running at all captured Alfred's interest, above all other scientific curiosities he'd studied. The small study he and Professor Abronsius had made wasn't enough to answer even a small part of the many questions Alfred had assembled. 

Von Krolock the younger fluttered his dark lashes at Alfred. 

"It could be greatly educational. Don't you agree?"

Whether or not he truly wanted to go, Sarah was out in the world and certainly unsure of how to handle herself, given her new gift. He didn't want her to face two unfamiliar immortals alone, though a fear was struck in him that he may not be any better, by basic comparison to his companions. Still, she was alone, and his duty as the one who loved her was to seek her out and look after her. As damned as he was, he still loved her to a fault. 

"Yes. Educational."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like in this chapter the story is beginning to gain some ground, starting to get on its feet for the long run ahead. I deeply appreciate the reads, kudos, and encouragements! :)
> 
> [Edited 12/3/17: I discovered one of my concepts exists in another form of vampire media and in the interest of maintaining my own original ideas in this story, I've made a slight change to the existing text.]

Sarah slept restlessly through her days at Eliza's great house. She and the other girls slept together in the basement floor, which had been furnished and decorated with the few integral pieces that real  _ladies_  needed. They had two water basins (mostly for show), two wardrobes for their fine dresses, and a narrow bed for each of the six of them. No windows put them at any risk for prying eyes or wandering vagrants to break in. It was a comfortable enough little home for the lost vampiric girls of Vienna.

Staring into the still water of the washing stand, Sarah wondered what she looked like in the aftermath of the transformation. Her reflection had vanished with every other ache and pain of living, but she knew her features had changed somehow. Her hair felt somehow tamer and sleeker, her skin smoother, her cheekbones standing out in a way they hadn't before. She'd audibly gasped when she couldn't find herself in the entryway looking glass. Eliza had explained the loss of her reflection to her the night she arrived, months before.

"To be immortal used to mean losing one's vanity. The living world follows no such rules, and so to remain a part of it, we have adapted, but the reflective surfaces cannot."

"Adapted?"

"If we were to stop combing our hair, wearing scents, and having new clothes made, we would certainly look frightful, wouldn't we? Even if we cannot see ourselves, we should still look our best."

Sarah had nodded and believed she understood, but upon seeking her reflection from habit repeatedly, she found herself disappointed not to be able to see how she looked. She'd once taken great pride in her looks and admired them throughout the days, evaluating how the sunlight reflected on her skin, and sometimes by candlelight too. She felt even more beautiful in her new state, though the fact that she would never truly know for herself saddened her, deeply. Sarah felt lost without the compass of her youth and beauty guiding her. 

The only indication of Sarah's beauty was the jealousy she'd been met with on her first night in Eliza's home. The other girls didn't seem to outwardly take any issue with her, but she caught them whispering about her with malice in their eyes. Something about her irked them and since Sarah had never shared a word with any of them, she could only assume it was her form. The girls in the shtetl had been the same way. Gossiping, irksome, and resentful of her even when she smiled and tried to be friendly with them. Her Mama was brazenly proud of her and always insisted the looks were from her own side of the family. Sarah tried to make friends and keep her mouth shut.

Eliza's clients were kind to her, at the least. The men of Sarah's shtetl had been a rough bunch with their teasing, pinching, and gawking, but these men were very different. All of them were of varying ages, but of a high status, wearing tailored suits and speaking in elegant, clean German. Eliza seemed to be very close with all of them, greeting every man that entered with wonderful grace and poise, and they in return paid her the same attention and respect. The four other girls who would greet the gentlemen at Eliza's side were just as well-bred and beautifully spoken as the mistress of the house was, which made Sarah and her kitchen maid counter-part seem far less refined. They were each of a different hair color and shape, but they were also each beautiful; intelligent, comely ladies quick with wit and conversation. The gentlemen would take turns enjoying a lady's company, only speaking to them with flirtatious words, but never touching unless touch was offered or requested by the lady first. It was a very civil and lovely establishment, Sarah found. More than anything, she found it a great relief from her tireless loneliness and fear.

The kitchen maid was a friend and a very kind, playful, and soft-spoken woman roughly five years Sarah's senior. Or at least, she had been five years Sarah's senior while she lived in the mortal world. Her greater experience still showed in her face and her manner, but for the most part, she was just as cheeky as she'd been almost a full century ago, or so Eliza said. Sarah wouldn't have read almost a century of age on her without being told, though once she knew, it seemed very obvious. Her name was Ilse and Sarah loved her as the sister she'd never had as soon as she'd met her.

They would sit in the kitchen together most nights when business was slow, and they would make coveted coffee for the smell and the sake of the act, though they found no fulfillment from it. Sarah found excitement in being near the coffee and smelling it alone; she'd only heard of it in her village, but never had the privilege to taste it. They would sit and Ilse would weave beautiful stories. It was difficult for Sarah to differentiate between tall tales and the true stories of her long life, but at the same time deeply enthralling and one of Sarah's only escapes.

 One night, Ilse had asked the unthinkable question that had been haunting Sarah's day-sleep since her arrival at the house. 

"So, how is it that you were reborn?"

Her young girl's heart tugged gently against her ribs at the thought of it, and Sarah quieted it. She'd thought herself very in love, but she hadn't known a thing about him, in truth. And he certainly hadn't been in love with her. Logic had finally prevailed over the silly emotions she'd been holding those few months since her departure.

"I made a mistake. I am a poor judge of character."

Ilse nodded knowingly and asked her no follow-up questions. She was pleasant to be with for that reason.

"I believe we all are, sometimes. Not everyone can sort the wheat from the chaff every time."

"Mama always told me my heart wouldn't lead me astray. She said God himself guides the heart. I don't believe her, now."

Ilse chuckled into her cup.

"And do you believe in God?"

Sarah considered her query for a moment. It was a big question to consider. Did she believe in God even after all that had happened? They were all gods in the way that they held claim over mortal lives, but did it mean that they were higher still than the only God Sarah had known? She'd caught herself praying on more than one occasion, even though she knew his back was turned to her. Sarah wasn't even sure she had a soul left for God to salvage. Was the immortality of the body traded for the immortality of the soul?

"I don't know, Ilse."

"Most folk I've known choose to say that God was never real or else we wouldn't exist."

Ilse raised her cup to Sarah.

"And yet here we are, still living, aren't we? Seventy years and not a single wrinkle on my face, and yet my family all lay rotting in their graves. My sister was certain she'd age better than me. If there is a God, he has a wicked sense of humor."

They laughed, but it was a hollow laugh at a sad and empty joke. Sarah wondered how her mother felt, alone in the village without her and her Papa. She wondered how she would feel to understand that she would outlive her mother by centuries, if safety allowed it. Sarah had only experienced immortality for a few months, and those months would feel like seconds a century later. The thought made her cold and she huddled into the warmth of the cup between her hands. The warmth always made her think of Alfred, and how warm his hands had been as well. At first it had made her very sad, but with time she learned to let herself enjoy the feeling as deeply as she could. Sarah would never hold Alfred's warm hands again, and the warmth of the cup was the closest she would get.

"I feel guilty, Ilse."

"Thinking about Alfred?"

"Very much. Every day."

Ilse nodded. She understood how it felt to hurt as deeply as Sarah did, to be as new at cheating death and at the same time forcing his hand. The others were much older and thought her very immature for grieving during her first week in Eliza's home, though they had long since forgotten their own times of grief.That choice allowed them to exist separately from their very human emotions, to move independently of sentimental motives, to let guilt scatter to the wind like loose ash. They never fell in love, never felt sadness, anymore. Only bitterness and emptiness. Sarah didn't understand it, and Ilse wouldn't explain it to her except to say, 

"Some are driven mad by the pain of it, this life. It is rife with difficulties. Some even choose to end it; to walk out into the daylight and embrace the fire. Others become cold and numb to this world’s horrors.”

Sarah could, however, understand feeling near madness. Even in the few months she'd been immortal, growing used to a body that needed so little had been very difficult. It felt as if she'd lost touch with her body, itself. She could scarcely imagine losing touch with her emotions at the same time.

"Some are reborn outside of their humanity from the beginning. They never know the great pain that it is to have felt once and feel no more, they only know the numbness. You must be careful of them."

The bits of advice she could glean from Eliza and Ilse did little to help because she wasn't sure of what to look for. The trouble in deciphering between vampires was that they were all actors, liars, and as true or untrue as their audience required. Even from one vampire to another, they could play remarkably false. It made her deeply miserable to understand that she couldn't have known about the Count. He'd provided for her, to be sure, and seemed to show a fondness, but when he'd bitten her...it became clear that it was all for blood lust. Sarah was no better than another supper, to him. People were merely more complicated prey and vampires higher level hunters, but it wasn't any different than a huntsman catching a beast. 

It didn't stop Sarah from thinking about him. She couldn't bring herself to hate him for what he'd done to her; it was what she had wanted. He hadn't killed Alfred, she had. If nothing else, Sarah felt real fear when the Count came to mind, and each day when the gentlemen would enter Eliza's house, she found herself hoping (and not hoping) with a wild sense of excitement that he'd pass through the door with them. She didn't know if she'd be able to speak or even form a coherent thought if she ever saw him again, but a part of her longed through the fear to see him once again anyway. 

The strange longing was never something she could talk about with Ilse. It was the only thing Sarah kept as her own, above all other things she had to share. A secret lodged in the base of her heart beside Alfred. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering what our boys have been doing all along if Sarah's been in Vienna for months? Looks like you'll have to tune in for the next chapter to find out...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this week, I sat down and planned out the basic course of this story. Originally, I had tagged specific ships for this fic, but until it is completed, I don't think I should assign certain ships to it. I specifically am making this decision because as I've written, some characters have revealed themselves a little differently to me than I expected at the outset and that has affected which relationships they've become more or less drawn to. With all of that said, I really do hope you'll continue reading and I am endlessly grateful for your comments and kudos. I hope you enjoy this one. <3
> 
> A special thanks to goldfish3d for acting as my beta and generally allowing me to bounce ideas off of her, she's an actual treasure!!

For the first full week that they traveled together, Alfred suffered the Count and his son easily.

Closed into the dark, compact space of their carriage with them, Alfred spent his long days studying the lines of Count von Krolock's face. Herbert had insisted upon sitting by his side, and in an effort not to look in his direction, Alfred had become accustomed to watching the man directly across from him instead.

Bizarrely, Alfred had missed that there were lines around his eyes, before. He understood that they had always been there, but they had escaped his notice entirely. Somehow the thought of a vampire wearing any age at all hadn't occurred to Alfred, and seeing it in person was disconcerting to him, to say the least. Disconcerting and comforting to him all at once in a way that defied description. 

Alfred wondered, each long day of that first week, watching the Count, if they would even be able to find Sarah. If the journey was worthwhile.

Every night, they would all disembark the carriage and Herbert would take Alfred for a short stroll, never once asking him if it was something he wanted. The Count would only stand and watch the sky in solitude, or so it seemed. The third night of their routine, Alfred prompted an explanation from Herbert as he was dragged along. It was one of many questions burning holes in his mind.

"He cannot feel her, anymore. Not well, anyway. You see, the sire holds a bond to the fledgling, at first, for a time. No one knows how long it lasts, and time is so fleeting, even for us."

It seemed a shaky reasoning to warrant their giving Sarah chase, in Alfred’s mind.  

"Are there no writings on the subject?"

"I know how you love to read, my dear Alfred, but not much has been recorded. There are many reasons for this.”

“How do you know how the bond works with no writings on the subject?”

Alfred made a mental note that he would have to investigate the bond more closely. How did it work, exactly? Could the Count hear Sarah's thoughts? Could he feel the things that she felt? Or was it a sense of kinship or something darker? 

Herbert pulled Alfred closer, affectionately.

"You're so curious tonight! It's absolutely  _adorable_.”

Alfred cleared his throat shakily,

“Thank you?”

“Please, ask me more, pet.”

Thinking on it another moment, Alfred  _had_  found another question worth asking, though he felt horribly silly asking it.

"The horses. How is it that we have no coachmen and yet, the horses race on? How do they know when to stop and when to go?"

Herbert chuckled and wrapped his hand around Alfred's, nestled in his arm as they walked.

"That is a trick that I have yet to crack. Vati is very clever and has many secrets that not even I have discovered.  _Yet_."

They walked in a somewhat comfortable silence for the few paces left to return to the carriage. When it was time, they always returned to the carriage with a renewed sense of vigor for the search. Whether their pauses helped the Count or not, Alfred couldn't tell. He was a highly difficult person to read, and still Alfred tried to find some crack in the visage. Even the bumps along their route never jostled him from his relaxed elegance; the Count sat acutely still.

Alfred could not discern what it was about him, exactly, that drew Sarah in so closely. Alfred understood that he was handsome, in an aristocratic way, but aside from his good looks, he seemed to convey not much more than an array of lovely words and wealth. Occasionally, Alfred would be reminded of the words he’d heard spoken from the graveyard in the dead of that winter night, only a week before. He wondered in earnest whether the man he’d overheard was only a ruse or if he lived somewhere within the aristocrat seated across from him. The Count’s charm and wealth seemed to work as a distraction for some secretive thing that Alfred was unable to uncover from his image alone.

The carriage, taken on its own, spoke of a massive estate. It was a very large carriage, like one Alfred had never seen, and had more than enough room for the three of them and could easily fit two or three more passengers within. Curiously, where the coach's windows had once been were dark panels, and no curtains to tempt him to peer out in the daylight hours. He had only been changed a week and he missed the sun more than anything. The nights were long and very cold, though Herbert was thankfully nowhere near as cold as Alfred remembered a vampire to be. He couldn't exactly tell his own temperature with nothing to compare it to, though he knew he was nowhere near as warm as he once had been. When he'd asked about that as well, Herbert had laughed cheerfully,

"We're not  _dead_ , Alfred."

In general, Herbert was not awful company. He liked to recount stories of his now distant youth, spent at salons and various dens of iniquity. Alfred would focus his attention at the Count, expecting some record of disappointment at his son's philandering, but he never gave more away than a slight curling of his lip in amusement. 

"Poor little Marie. We were close once, you know. We would summer together in beautiful France."

Alfred finally turned and looked at him, mildly intrigued. 

"Little Marie?"

"Yes, darling. She who taught me that most beautiful language; French. I'll forever adore her for it. She was wonderfully sweet and had an incredible sense of style. A woman of the people who could boast a magnificent wardrobe! Not anything like the hideous pools of fabric they’re attempting to call ‘fashion’ in Paris, now. Dreadful, maudlin things. No line or  _life_  to them at all."

"Little Marie...was she very important?"

"Oh, Alfred! Are you even listening? Of course she was! The toast of France."

Alfred gaped at Herbert in a mixture of puzzled wonderment and shock. 

"Why are you looking at me like that? As much as I do love the way you look with your mouth open, it is very rude."

Alfred clamped his mouth shut and swallowed, processing Herbert's story. It couldn't possibly be. Simply an old friend long passed, the wife of an important French businessman or some such. And still, with Herbert's status...

"Not...Marie...?"

Herbert raised an eyebrow at him.

"When did you know this Marie?"

"Oh, I prefer not to talk about that. It makes me feel terribly old."

The Count chuckled soundly in his throat from across the carriage at them. 

"No offense meant to dear Vati, of course."

 Alfred continued to puzzle out Herbert's story in silence. 

"Alfred, I can practically _hear_ you thinking, please just ask."

"Well, I can't help but think...this Marie...she must have been of some status to be passing summers with you."

"Status, indeed. It's tacky to ask such a thing, but I will humor you for being so deliciously endearing. Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna, if you need an exact name."

"Marie Antoinette?!"

Herbert shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've taken such a long pause between chapters! I've been working on some of the later chapters to get an idea of where all of our beloved characters are heading, with the help of my beta goldfish3d, but I've let it distract me from my more current chapters. 
> 
> Time to check back in with Sarah and our lovely vampire courtesans.

The guests at Sarah's fifth table disturbed her, though she was not able to say why. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary about them, a man and a young lady out on a pleasantly cool evening, drinking and laughing together. Sarah could smell her from across the main floor, could hear the solitary beating of her heart like a bird fluttering against its cage. There was nothing unusual about the girl aside from her humanity. 

The thing that troubled her was the gentleman. Sarah couldn't smell nor hear him, and neither did he partake in anything to eat or drink. He was notably handsome, of a strong build and framed by a halo of yellow curls that painfully reminded Sarah of Alfred's. 

She grabbed Clotilde, who had been waiting for her next guest, and whispered,

"Who is that? That charming fellow who hasn't pestered us all night."

Clotilde put on a smile like a mask and whispered back,

"He is not to be disturbed unless he asks you to disturb him."

Her voice sent a chill down Sarah's spine; a sensation she hadn't felt since her turning. Clotilde's tone conveyed only what Sarah already knew to be true; whatever was happening at that table was more dangerous than any usual hunt. Nothing about him looked out of place. He was as well dressed as the human gentlemen, and kind and respectful to any girl that he happened to address. He followed the rules and did nothing to particularly draw attention to himself and still, Sarah knew precisely what he was doing. A cold familiarity twisted through her as she watched the human girl enjoy herself. Blood willingly given always tasted better than blood taken. 

Sarah made her way back towards Ilse's kitchen carefully, muttering something about a stain on her uniform to Johanna and Martina, the twin sisters. It was always a relief to get into the kitchen and out of sight with Ilse, but especially when another vampire had the audacity to bring his hunt into their home. 

"Were the cheeses for Johanna or Martina's guests? Can't tell them apart to save my life."

Sarah snorted in an unladylike manner at Ilse's poor joke.

"Ha-ha. Martina. The beauty mark by her eye."

Ilse glanced at her.

"Everything alright, Lammchen?"

"I'm not sure."

Sarah took to her customary seat at the kitchen's table and sighed, tapping her fingernails on the tabletop.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"I'm thinking."

"Are you just going to think about it or are you going to tell me about it?"

Sarah shook her head and rested her chin on her fist.

"There's a man."

"I don't like this thought."

"No, Ilse, there's a man sitting out there with a girl and he...frightens me."

"Frightened? You?"

Sarah sighed heavily.

 "It doesn't sit right with me. She's a human, and he's one of us."

Ilse's hands froze mid-cut over the block of Gouda on the counter top.

"That is just our way, Sarah."

"I don't have to like it. Or feel comfortable with it."

Ilse laughed gently at her.

"Of course not, but how exactly is it any different from your suppers?"

Sarah couldn't argue with that. What she had done to all of those men and boys (sometimes girls, too) wasn't at all different from what the gentleman that troubled her had planned for his guest, but all the same, she was bothered. She had thought so long on whether she would have wanted to choose differently. Often, Sarah found herself daydreaming of Alfred's warmth, and his kindly smile, and she wished very deeply that she hadn't killed him. Ilse and Eliza had talked her through it; Sarah had no way of controlling her hunger at the beginning. The pain from turning would have prevented any kind of self-control, and still, Sarah grimly found herself wishing Abronsius had been nearer in Alfred's stead. It wasn't a pleasant thing to wish on anyone, but it didn't stop her, all the same.

"It's not any different, but..."

"And anyhow, she may still live, yet. You've a heart of gold, worrying the way you do."

Sarah felt her stomach drop and an uneasy anxiousness set in. How could that girl survive a bite? She'd be drained by morning and the loss from a solitary bite alone might kill her, unless he chose to turn her.

"Live?"

Ilse aimed a quirked eyebrow in her direction, peering over her shoulder.

"Well, yes. You were bitten as well, weren't you? You lived."

"I was turned."

Ilse chuckled.

"The turning isn't a choice, surely you know that, you were bitten."

Sarah rose so quickly from the table that she upended her chair.

"What?"

Ilse turned with some concern coloring her expression to pass off her cheese board.

"Didn't your sire tell you?"

"What? Tell me what?"

"Oh, Sarah. He didn't tell you, did he?"

Sarah's legs shook unsteadily beneath her. Alfred was dead. He was dead. He'd laid unmoving in the snow, bleeding profusely from her attentions. She'd killed him, she knew it, but what if he hadn't died? She braced herself against the kitchen tabletop, struggling for air.

"Don't move an inch. I'm going to fetch Eliza."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the road with the guys, and they're getting a little peckish. Thanks again to goldfish3d for reading over my WIPs and smacking me on the wrist when they make no sense.

Evening whispered over the winding plains as the driver-less carriage raced along the ribbon of road covering the Austro-Hungarian countryside. The tension of Alfred and his travelling companions was palpable, though they all sat together in a reserved silence. Herbert was the first to speak up; he never could stand going too long without speaking.

"Vati?"

Count von Krolock, who had been sitting comfortably resting his eyes, directed his attention to his son's inquiry.

"Yes, Herbert?"

Alfred, having become accustomed to Herbert's body language over the last month and a half that they had been travelling together, could feel the hunger coming off of him in waves. 

"I am weak."

The Count sighed heavily and nodded, his exhaustion highly evident, as greatly as he attempted to hide it. 

"I am as well, though I am afraid our chances of a meal this evening are slim."

Alfred kept his eyes low, maintaining an understanding that he would be expected to feed as well. He had been hanging onto his hunger pangs for most of their journey, nursing heavy headaches and a chill from within that he declined to mention to them. Truth be told, Alfred desired to hold off on his first true feeding for as long as he possibly could, though Herbert and the Count had partaken in a sow not but two weeks after their departure from Schloss von Krolock. 

"Could we not simply acquire some beast from a neglectful farmer?"

"It is possible, but a beast will not keep us satisfied."

Alfred felt the nervousness fluttering in him like a trapped insect. 

"You mean to say we ought to hunt."

An indiscernible look passed between father and son, as was their custom when they wished to add a comment they felt was inappropriate for Alfred's overhearing. Even with no clear expression on either of their faces, Alfred understood that what remained unspoken was that he was too inexperienced for such an undertaking and they both possessed some concern about it. The question left at hand was whether they were hungry enough for the risk involved. 

"There is a village not far from us now."

Herbert nodded and touched Alfred's arm gently. 

"Our young friend deserves a learning experience. Perhaps you might allow Alfred and I to accomplish the worst of it."

As was his way, the Count offered no particularly telling expression, but eyed Alfred carefully. 

"Well, Alfred? What do you think?"

Alfred knew his fear was openly obvious to his companions, but he attempted some bravery,

"If it must be done." 

He could see Herbert's impish smile out of the corner of his eye. 

 

* * *

 

 

As they left their carriage behind, Alfred's legs moved weakly alongside Herbert's graceful strides. Even as hungry as he must have been, Herbert still went to every pain to move and be seen as elegantly as possible. 

"Now, Alfred. This is very important."

Alfred wondered with a sense of dark humor if he should have been taking notes. 

"You must not come to them first. You must instead let them come to you."

In their plain travel attire, Herbert and Alfred decided upon the inn as their best chance at a meal, even if it was a decidedly alcoholic one. The villagers from the surrounding countryside were aware of the myths and therefore far warier than their counterparts in the center of town. It was not unlike the shtetl from which they had come. 

"Lastly, we will lay no hands on our meal within the village."

It seemed common sense, but the closer they drew to the bustle of the village inn, the heavier Alfred's limbs felt and the hunger pangs in the depths of his stomach twisted painfully tightly. He imagined it was the way a shark felt at its first scent of blood.

The villagers paid them no mind as they entered and continued to drink and converse as if they hadn't entered. Of course there wasn't much reason to, their only distinguishing features were hidden behind closed lips, as well as Herbert's hair tied back and hidden behind a cloak.  Still, Herbert's tall, lithe form caught the barmaid's attention almost instantly. She flashed them a smile and beckoned them up to the bar, despite the several men mobbing her calling for more ale.

"Nice night. Either of you fancy a drink to warm yourselves?"

The voice that emerged from Herbert's mouth alarmed Alfred, to say the least. 

"You'd warm me much more, I'll wager." 

His tone was full and resonant, low and warm like his father's. He stood differently as well, leaning up against the bar to tower over their server. Alfred half expected her to take insult, but she instead blushed warmly and laughed at him. She wasn't anything of exquisite beauty, but her blush was pleasant and her laugh put Alfred somewhat at ease.

"We'll see."

They accepted two pints and began attempting to casually drink the way that the other patrons did so. Alfred noted, to himself, that in their state, even ale tasted only of bitter ash. For an hour or more, they drank together, making bawdy jokes and chortling at each other, the way the villagers might. Alfred wasn't sure how long he could maintain the charade; each patron that passed them grew the hunger gnawing at him from within. Eventually, he leaned forward towards Herbert to mutter,

"How much longer?"

To which Herbert responded, 

"Turn around for her, I'm sure we'll leave much faster."

Which kept Alfred's mouth shut for the remainder of their time at the inn. 

Herbert had no trouble persuading the girl to venture out with him, though it meant Alfred had to make himself hidden for their journey back to the carriage. As a vampire, Alfred seemed to easily cling to the shadows and prevent himself from being seen, though he imagined he'd never possess the grace or prowess to do so as a human. The ashen ale sank heavily in the base of his stomach and it took all of his will to prevent himself from becoming ill from it. 

The carriage still safely out of sight, Herbert stopped with the girl by an empty barn, the farm next to it having been abandoned some time long before their arrival. Alfred watched with some discomfort as Herbert kissed her fingers and up her arm to her throat. He was aching like a hole had been cut into his abdomen when he saw Count von Krolock emerge from the shadows and take Herbert's place. The girl's eyes were shut fast; she saw nothing. No scream escaped her when he cut through her skin with his fangs. Alfred couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood pooling against the Count's lips. 

Herbert bit next, deeply, and their victim lost consciousness. 

"Alfred, darling, please eat something."

Herbert said between gasps, having taken his fill. Despite an overwhelming desire to run the other direction, Alfred's hunger spurred him forward, carrying him towards the feast. The Count held the girl upright easily, tilting her head to expose her throat for him. 

Alfred didn't need to be told twice; a force surged through him that threw his head back and he sunk his fangs into her. Somewhere along the line, Alfred lost his consciousness, giving his entire body over to satiating the thirst that had plagued him for the better part of their journey. The only thing that retrieved him was the hand that closed around the back of his head. Herbert detached him from her throat easily, smiling at the sight of the hot blood staining Alfred's mouth. 

"You look much better."

He could hear the blood rushing through his body and feel the enticing heat of it warming him from within. The pain of his hunger subsided as the girl's life roared through him, and he was left in a state of blissful clarity. The Count let her fall to the barn floor, wiping the remains of his supper from his mouth with a handkerchief as black as pitch. He and Herbert went to work quickly, breaking apart a rotting plank of wood until they found a sharp, blade-like fragment. Alfred watched, numb, as they used it to pierce the flesh of her chest. They were staking her. 

Whatever illusion of emotional stability had been holding Alfred together until that point shattered entirely and left him wholly unsupported. He could hear himself screaming, but couldn't find a way to put a stop to it. 

Herbert rushed to his side quickly, the blood still staining the white of his teeth, the smell of it alone making Alfred sick in the depths of his stomach. The blood was rushing so loudly in his head that he couldn't hear Herbert's reassuring whispers, and he fought against Herbert's arms, which were closing around him in an attempt to calm him. Alfred reeled backwards, and the grief beat down on him in thick, unrelenting waves. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking my beta, as always: goldfish3d. 
> 
> Sarah, part 2.

The few moments Ilse spent out of the kitchen, leaving Sarah on her own, were suffocating. Sarah was all at once filled with hope and horrible dread at the realization. How many of her previous suppers were simply walking around Vienna, changed by her own ignorance? What if they hated her? How many of them wanted her dead? 

The relief she felt at seeing Eliza was overwhelming. Sarah hadn't even noticed she'd begun to cry until Eliza brushed the tears off of her cheeks. 

"Hello, lovely."

She had a greatly comforting presence, like the older sister that Sarah had never been blessed with. 

"Ilse tells me your sire has done you a great disservice."

Sarah shrugged at her. How was she supposed to know? She'd run from him at the first immediate chance.

"You've been eating irresponsibly."

Something about Eliza had become sharp, a rougher edge darkened her usually honey-light voice. 

"I will only tell you once and if I find out you have deliberately disobeyed me, you will not stay in this house. Are we clear?"

Sarah nodded, certain Eliza would follow through; she ran a very tight house as it was. Falling in love was the number one thing that could get a girl kicked out of her rooms, the second was eating without being told. 

"Now, you have been very good, and you have only eaten on my command in all of your days here with us."

Eliza took her hand. 

"However, you have been eating without making  _absolutely certain_  that you have left a corpse behind. It is a small mistake and it is unlikely that you will face many consequences in its wake, but as a result, I am left no choice but to instruct you in this essential practice."

Ilse came through the kitchen doors at that moment, followed by the gentleman that had given Sarah pause and his young guest. She noticed then the slick black of his hair and the strong resemblance. 

"Sarah, this is Edmund."

 Somehow knowing his name and breaking that level of familiarity with him was worse than not understanding or knowing him at all. She felt like knowing him made her an accomplice, an accessory, to whatever was fated for his beautiful guest. Sarah couldn't tear her eyes away from her in a mixture of horror and admiration. She was a lovely plump girl with an even lovelier smile that was accentuated by her full cheeks, and compared to the gaunt, sunken cheeks of her vampiric escort, she looked like the personification of a warm hug. 

"Edmund, darling, I know you had something  _slightly_  different in mind, but for the sake of my young charge, here, would you care to demonstrate?"

He smiled, lifting Eliza's small, gloved hand to his lips. 

"Of course, my sister."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Sarah could spot the resemblance. The same slope in the nose, the same intensity of the eye, and even the same jet black hair. There was, however, something far more unsettling about Edmund. Something about him was colder, out of touch, unreadable. Everything in Sarah's being told her to avoid him. 

"Sarah,"

Edmund paced behind the girl, gliding his hands along her soft shoulders. 

"This is Sophie."

Sophie looked terribly enamored with him, trusting and bursting with love just at the feel of his fingertips. Sarah felt sick.

"Sophie is from France. Say hello, Sophie."

Sophie smiled a beautiful smile at her and cooed,

"Salut!"

"A pretty sound, isn't it?"

Sarah turned her head away, but Eliza tutted at her disapprovingly. 

"We're doing this for  _you_ , so you  _will_ watch."

She seized Sarah's chin in her surprisingly strong hand none too gently to force her to watch. 

"Edmund, if you please."

He bowed his head to his sister, gently turning Sophie's golden head to one side to expose her neck to him. Sarah fought the urge to scream at her that she had to run before he could strike, but one look at Sophie could tell her she was fully willing. He had no doubt mentioned something to her about "eternal life" that he couldn't possibly promise, but Sophie would not know that - and she would pay the price for her ignorance. 

He bit into her softly, like kissing her, but as he drained her, her eyes filled with terror. Sophie tried to escape him, but he clung to her with strength no mortal could equal. Sarah remembered: she'd been exposed to that same strength only a few months prior. Edmund’s bite sunk deeper and tore a cry of pain from his victim, her blood running into the top of her chemise. Her life drained from her like a slow leak in a bucket full of water, her eyes begging and begging for Sarah to do something. Sarah knew, looking into the dying girl's eyes, that she'd imagine them for the rest of her eternity. 

Before long, Sophie was drained enough to lose consciousness and Edmund's blood lust was satisfied, but he wasn’t finished with her. He laid her out on the kitchen table, an image Sarah would never be able to erase, no matter how many cups of coffee she enjoyed with Ilse there.

“Watch carefully, pet. This is the part that matters.”

Edmund retrieved a long, carved wooden object from his pocket and, with some showmanship, turned it over in his hands to allow Sarah to clearly study it. His lips were still stained with Sophie’s life, his grin a grotesque red. He raised the object over his head and drove it deep into Sophie’s sunken-in chest. Sarah couldn’t suppress her cry as she watched him raise his arm again and run Sophie through repeatedly, droplets of her remaining blood staining the pale skin of his face. This wasn’t a simple feeding for Edmund, this was a blood sacrifice.

Eliza released her and raced to Edmund, seizing his arm with a kind of strength Sarah had never seen a woman possess, in her life and afterwards.

“I think that is _quite_ enough.”

She was strong enough to stop Edmund entirely without much of a struggle, not a single hair on her head out of place. Not even her voice gave away any sign of true effort.

“I believe you’ve made abundantly clear what the stake is for, dear.”

Eliza spoke to him as though he were nothing more than a petulant child.

“Now, my sweet girl, do you understand what you must do?”

 Sarah struggled to nod at her without shaking. Eliza seemed disappointed in her.

“Darling, it simply will not do for you _tremble_ like a mouse when you are spoken to! You are a predator. Does the tiger cower? Does the bear?”

Sarah shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes.

“No one chooses this existence, Sarah. None of us get to decide whether we live through Death’s kiss or perish.”

Eliza reached for her hand.

“Doesn’t it simply stand to reason that you must be proud?”

Sarah nodded silently once more, but a nagging in the back of her head cried out. To become someone -  _something_ \- like Edmund was to turn away from God entirely. God had turned his back on her, but she would not turn on him. And still, there was necessity to their practice. Without it, Sarah condemned her victims to a fate she now understood to be worse than death itself.

“You will need to think all of this over, I know. Take your time.”

Sarah knew, eyes still fixed solely on Sophie’s pallid flesh, that the night’s events would haunt her like a wild, recurring nightmare. No prayer she knew could save her from the damnation she’d brought upon herself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's chapter continues...
> 
> Thanks another time to goldfish3d for letting me shout incomprehensibly about how tough it is to write sad things.

Alfred dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing openly into the floor. The absolute misery that had pent up inside of him was tearing its way out of him and flooding his senses to the point of suffocation. He could feel a hand touch down just below the base of his neck on his upper back. It brought him comfort, though not much. 

No one spoke for a time, leaving Alfred's bereaved sobs to fill the empty barn's terrible silence. Herbert eventually called to him, his voice sounding strangely far away, 

"Alfred, dear?"

But Alfred could still make no coherent response. An arm too substantial to be Herbert's curled around his side, and the free hand rubbed comforting circles into his back.

"You may go ahead without us, son."

A peculiar kind of dread filled Alfred when he realized how close the Count's voice was to him. Herbert wasn't holding him at all; the Count was. He thought of scrambling away and rejecting the support, but thought better of it. The Count's arm was strong and sure, like a father's, and it though it comforted him, it also made him all the more grieved, remembering the family he had left behind to believe him dead. 

"Alfred?"

The Count's voice was soft and gentle, and Alfred choked on the air, hiccupping and coughing all at once in an attempt to gather his faculties.

"Oh, Alfred."

He half-lifted Alfred as gently as he could to force him to sit back on his heels, straightening out his back and opening his posture. It was substantially easier to breathe, but Alfred still covered his face with his hands, deeply embarrassed by the display of emotional weakness he'd been avoiding since the outset of their journey. The Count held him upright by his shoulders, pulled in closely to him like a fussing child.

 A wild thought entertained itself over Alfred's heartbreak; the Count must have done the exact same thing with Herbert, as a boy. The ridiculousness of the image of Herbert, massive silken cloak and all, weeping like a baby over something like a tear in a stocking while his father petted him patronizingly was enough to force a laugh out of him. Alfred imagined he looked fairly crazed, laughter following tears so quickly, but the emotions came in such unbearable bursts, he held little control over them.

"We killed her?"

The Count nodded at him silently, his brow furrowed in deep concern. 

"You drove the stake through her."

"Yes."

A sob forced its way out of Alfred and he sniffled pitifully.

"I can never see anyone again."

The Count kept his silence, which only urged Alfred on,

"My parents, my sisters and brothers. I left them all in Königsberg to follow Dr. Abronsius. And now..."

It was difficult to avoid the tears a second time.

"And that could be her."

Alfred raised a shaking finger to point almost accusingly at their staked victim. 

"That could be Sarah, somewhere. For all we know, she's dead."

The grief claimed him again then, and the Count, of all things, pulled him into an embrace. 

"She is not dead, Alfred."

The temptation to accept the almost familial comfort was overwhelming to him, and he allowed himself the safety to enjoy it for only a moment. His suspicions pestered him too strongly to allow a moment longer; there was no real intention on the Count’s part to answer his concerns.

"You can’t possibly know that! You’re lying!"

Alfred pushed him away, near wailing again,

"I'm sick of this! Neither of you tell me anything! Why did you even take me with you in the first place?! Maybe at the end of my usefulness, you'll stake me too!" 

"Alfred!"

Even sitting on the floor beside him, the Count was fearsome when he sharpened his tone, but Alfred happened to be angrier than he was heartbroken and cowed.

"No, I won't be silent! I'm tired of holding my tongue! This isn't living! No one deserves this, and _you_ did this to Sarah!"

Alfred stumbled unsteadily to his feet. The Count made no move to join him and instead glowered at him from the floor. 

"Did _what_?"

"This! You condemned her to a fate worse than any death!"

"Alfred."

"You didn't even give her a choice, did you? You just took what you wanted! That’s how you’ve always done it, isn’t it? Both of you, selfish, evil-"

"Alfred, I have heard enough!"

Alfred had lost track of when the Count had stood to join him. 

"You are not in any place to have a civilized discussion about this."

"Oh, but I am!"

"No, Alfred, you are not. You are clearly highly distressed, as you have every right to be.”

"Don’t _dismiss_ me on the grounds of distress! Of course I’m distressed! I don't even want to be alive, if I can call myself that!"

Something broken and bitter came to play across the Count's features then. 

"You seem to be laboring under the delusion that this fate was chosen for you. That _death_ is _better_. You are wrong."

"What do you mean?!"

The Count sighed and rubbed one of his temples as if Alfred's turmoil had induced a head ache.

"Alfred, no being that walks this unfortunate Earth possesses the power of life. You were not  _made_ to be what you are now any more than you were _made_ to possess that cherubim’s hair of yours.”

Alfred’s brow furrowed in confusion and anger.

“I-I won’t have you lie to me. Speak in exact terms.”

The Count had grown visibly frustrated with him.

“I am not lying to you. I have no incentive to do so. Let me provide an explanation in terms you can understand; what we are is less a state of being than a condition of being.”

“W-what?”

“Perhaps this might clarify; a sickness may spread across a land and leave survivors in its wake, though it will kill many more than that. Alfred, you are one of the survivors. Death has gripped you in his great fist and left his mark upon you, and yet, you have lived.”

Alfred relaxed somewhat, though still greatly perplexed.

“Death?”

“Yes, Alfred, you have conquered Death. You have been given the gift of a second life, by Death himself.”

“I haven’t conquered anything! I don’t want this! I want to go home!”

Alfred could feel his voice breaking, though he tried to remain firm, having embarrassed himself enough for one evening. The Count softened his tone,

“I know you want to go home, and I am sorry.”

Exhausted from fighting for himself, Alfred resigned to listening.

“I have not allowed you to rest as you should be resting, I have not allowed you the time and the space in which to grieve your losses, and I have not given you my attention when you have needed it most.”

Alfred was robbed of speech at the Count’s honest admission; he truly had been run into the ground by their search for Sarah, though he believed no one would take notice.

“Alfred, let me tell you why your fate is a gift. In plain terms.”

His attention was entirely focused on the Count, hoping above all other hopes that whatever he had to say would be the truth. He wanted to believe him and to be able to trust his words, rather than expending all of his energy in questioning. It was an exhausting practice to maintain.

“My lady wife and I struggled for years to have a child. It was all she wanted. Nothing in the world that I could bring her would make her happy.”

He paced along a length of the straw-strewn floor, clearly choosing the words best suited for speaking to Alfred without upsetting him further.

“I procured anything she wanted, anything at all that she could point her lovely finger at. And still, each time that she became with child, she could not keep them. Her gifts would turn to ash in her mind at the loss of each of our children.”

The Count seemed to have difficulty in relating his story, and Alfred imagined such a period of time remained painful even long after its ending.

“At long last, she gave birth to a healthy little boy, whom she loved with the entirety of her being. We had never known a joy like the one that came with Herbert’s birth.”

Something dark came over his face as Alfred listened, transfixed.

“I did not know the hunger as you do now. I believed that because I had been granted this power, this chance of living beyond my natural means, I could…”

The Count either chose not to finish the statement or simply couldn’t; Alfred could not tell for certain.

“I first attempted to provide the gift for Anaïs, though I did not know that it was not mine to give. Death was not kind to her.”

A sympathetic grief gripped Alfred’s heart. He could scarcely imagine the pain of losing the love of his life. The depth of the pain that colored the Count’s voice coupled with the earnest torment that disfigured his features won Alfred’s belief.

“In the darkness of my grief, I turned away from our son. I neglected him when he needed me most, Alfred. The son that we waited so long for, that Anaïs loved so dearly; I let him become ill.”

The Count kept his gaze downcast, and Alfred was relieved he couldn’t see the tears springing back into his eyes.

“Herbert begged me for release. I brought doctors from every corner of the world that I could reach, and none could end his pain.”

He turned away from Alfred entirely.

“When we had exhausted our options and my loving Anaïs’ son lay dying each day, going mad by the laudanum, that, Alfred, was when I did it. I made the choice for him because I believed there were no others. I believed I held Death’s kiss in the palm of my hand.”

Alfred knew the ending, of course, but it did nothing to soften the blow of hearing it spoken from the Count’s very personal perspective.

“He _lived_ , Alfred. I gave my own son the kiss of Death and he triumphed over the darkness. _You_ , Alfred, have triumphed over the darkness, and you have won because Death allowed you to. There is only one chance for this gift. _One._ ”

The Count turned and approached him as if to stalk past him and out into the night, but he stopped in his tracks at Alfred’s side, speaking to him in a lowered tone,

“You have lived because you were _meant_ to live. You are well-educated, kind, and you possess a heart of great strength that has withstood tremendous loss.”

He rested a hand gently on Alfred’s shoulder.

“There are so many who cannot see the value in our existence. I believe that _you_ can.”

Alfred directed his attention to the woman on the floor, staring, unblinking at her motionless form.  
  
"Your Excellency?"

The Count's footfalls stopped in the barn doorway. 

"How do you know that Sarah lives?"

Alfred risked a glance away from her to read the Count's expression. He said nothing, but simply turned and placed a hand over his chest, at his heart. 

"I know it."

"How-"

"I will never lie to you. I swear it."

Alfred looked away, conflicted to realize that he still earnestly believed him. 

"And Alfred? ’Excellency' is painfully cold, given our familiarity and the duration of our journey."

Alfred sighed; of course an exercise in power was meant to follow his humiliating display. He was a fool to believe the Count wouldn’t do such a thing.

"Which title would you prefer I use?"

"I believe 'Johannes' would suit, if it does not trouble you." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the name "Johannes" and have spotted it as a fandom favorite for naming The Count, so I thought I would continue that tradition here in Independent Will. And lessons like staking are difficult to learn for baby vampires, though context is everything. I hope you'll stay tuned for next time, thank you so much for your continued readership and support. <3


	9. Chapter 9

Edmund haunted Sarah’s steps like her shadow, in the days following Eliza’s “lesson”. No matter which corners she rounded in the old house, or which doors she shut behind her, she always found him lying in wait in one room or the next. She no longer slept during the days; she feared that looking away from Edmund long enough would bring her some kind of harm. The other girls treated his presence as unremarkable and Sarah was too afraid to ask any of them for guidance. Edmund seemed to have a free pass to enter any room, feast upon any mortal, and interfere with Eliza’s business in any way he pleased. For his entitlement alone, Sarah was not fond of him. The nightmares of him were worse.

In Sarah’s few sleeping hours, her mind seemed to transform him into a demon, a blood-seeking hell spawn unlike any vampire she’d encountered before him. They all seemed…civil. Human, in certain ways, even the older ones, but something about Edmund was stone cold. Most times she saw him as a serpent, slithering just in the shadows of her vision, just beyond recognition, like an untraceable plague. His viciousness was like a sour smell and hung about the air long after he’d come and gone, and the stink of it played with her subconscious like a great wild cat with its prey. Even in her dreams, Sarah wasn’t safe from his suffocating essence.

By the end of the second week he’d tailed her, Sarah decided it was time to put her foot down and find out what he was up to. There wasn’t any live blood in her body; he surely wasn’t interested in claiming her life, so what was it that he was after?

She caught him behind her in the narrow servants’ passage connected to the girls’ basement room. Sarah had carefully ignored him for hours that evening, letting him trail her through the kitchen, much to Ilse’s displeasure, and she’d seen him passing along the walls of the main floor. The passage was narrow enough to prevent either of them from brushing past the other, and so she chose that moment to turn on him and block his movement.

“Edmund!”

A small look of amused surprise crossed his face from where he stood, a few feet in front of her.

“I didn’t think you’d noticed. You’re sharper than I thought.”

“Please, just tell me what you want.”

He shrugged easily, leaning against the wall. He was entirely unthreatened by her.

“I will, but at the moment, I’m enjoying the show. Why not let you dangle at the end of the thread a bit longer?”

Sarah huffed and tapped one foot impatiently. She hadn’t come to play with this dangerous man, nor would she let someone like him oust her from her home. She had to become the great hunter Eliza believed that she could be.

“No. Tell me exactly what it is that you want.”

Edmund seemed undisturbed.

“A touch pushy, too. Lovely. I understand why Eliza seems to favor you.”

She rolled her eyes at him. Keeping the upper hand was important and treating Edmund as a nuisance more than anything else would harm his power.

“I see, you think you scare me.”

“Oh, no, darling. I don’t _think_ , I _know_ I scare you.”

Edmund looked like a demon, grinning at her and revealing his fangs in the darkness of the servants’ passage.

“And I think, in light of this little chat, I shall have to just find out what else you’re scared of.”

He reached for her and Sarah stepped backwards quickly, knocking into the wall and nearly tripping over the step behind her.

“You’ll want to turn and keep moving, I think. That’s how this works.”

She wished, for a moment, that her papa was with her. It seemed silly for a vampire to wish for her papa, but she did, even still.

“That’s how _what_ works?”

He laughed, low and raspy.

“ _The hunt_.”

Sarah felt a chill pass through her. Vampires could still feel pain, could still struggle like any other prey.

“You will not _hunt_ me.”

Sarah stepped forward as quickly as she was capable and with all of her might, drove her heel against Edmund’s shin, sending him backwards onto the floor. The next step was easier.

She turned and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full truth: I agonized over this chapter, even though it's only a short length. The following chapter is much longer, and has taken a lot of time and energy to put together, hence the shorter Sarah POV this time. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate the kudoses, views, messages, just any and every kind of communication y'all can use to tell me what you think. <3
> 
> AND a very special thanks to golfish3d for her work on this as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in, this one is a bit longer. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Another thanks to my brilliant co-author, goldfish3d!!

The lecture hall was much colder than Alfred would have liked for his first major presentation. The seats were mostly empty, but he appreciated the small crowd he could draw nonetheless. Considering the fact that he could see their breath fog the air, Alfred was grateful they remained in the hall at all.

His notes were neatly arranged on the lectern, each page laid out so that he could see his points as he spoke. Everything was ready. He’d prepared for this moment for years, studying carefully under Professor Abronsius, following his every move through the Carpathians. He’d earned this moment, standing at his podium, ready to address the crowd of academics hanging onto the silence in the chilled hall. He’d worked for it.

Alfred cleared his throat and addressed his silent guests,

“Gentlemen of the University of Königsberg, good morning. I must preface this presentation with thanks to my tireless mentor, Professor Wilhelm Abronsius, who has been my guide and good friend throughout this project.”

Upon gesturing toward Abronsius, Alfred was able to see more clearly into his audience.

Every seat was empty.

Not even the clouds of breath Alfred had seen before were visible. He faltered in his speech, struggling to find a single person at whom to direct his speech. As long as there was a pair of ears to hear his work, Alfred would continue.

At long last, his eyes found Abronsius. Of course. Abronsius came because Alfred was his fellow; because Alfred had followed him through those desolate mountains and believed earnestly in his work, no matter what the University believed. Alfred’s eyes lit up at the first sight of him and he began to continue with his research, and glanced down at his pages upon pages of notes.

They were blank.

Not a single page had anything on it. There was not even a small scrawl of handwriting to indicate Alfred had somehow picked up the incorrect notes. His notes simply didn’t exist. Alfred rifled frantically through the blank sheets, creating a spectacle of himself. His embarrassment was all-consuming, and in desperation, he looked out towards Abronsius as if to ask for his assistance.

No assistance would come. When Alfred looked up, he saw his mentor frozen solid. Not even clouded breaths escaped him, his skin pale and blue. Alfred observed in horror as the ice grew around Abronsius, fingers of frost swallowing him whole. He couldn’t move closer to help or investigate, his feet stuck fast to the auditorium floor. Alfred had no choice but to watch Abronsius succumb to the ice, and so he buried his face in his hands, in horror and in shame.

And then Alfred smelled incense. It was subtle behind his hands, but as soon as he could recognize it, it became overpowering. It was thick and hot and sweet, and the smoke burned Alfred's throat when he gasped for breath. It pulled him to his knees, coughing, the cold no longer the imminent threat at hand. A soft cushion caught him, much to his surprise, and he opened his eyes to find a great altar before him. He’d never seen one so grand: an ornate tribute to the Virgin and the Christ, done almost entirely in shining gold.

Around him stood a great cathedral in cold, gray stone, and he knelt in reverent prayer. He felt at home here, and safe, despite a gnawing pain deep in his belly that he had never felt before – and yet seemed so familiar. One of his hands came to rest on it and found it round and firm beneath his palm. He knew, then, he was a woman with child in this empty church, praying to God this life might not abandon him as so many others had.

The thought occurred to him with stunning clarity, alien as it was, and Alfred accepted it instantly. In its wake came other realizations: he could feel this blessing within him, a beating heart beneath his hands. He had never kept a child within him for so long. Each before hadn't lasted through the bitter winters of the mountains. This child was different. This child wanted to live.

The victorious thought struck him, and like the familiar death knell from the church tower, a terrible pain tore through him. It was searing and bright, like a knife inside him, tearing him apart from within. He felt a hot rush between his legs and watched, in silent horror, as blood pooled in his lap, bathing his white gown in bright crimson. The feeling was hauntingly familiar, and he prayed harder still through the blinding pain. He begged the Virgin Mother's hands be upon the child, that the Father hold its soul within, that someone do something to help him as he bled upon the stones. He looked up at the shrine, one trembling arm reaching out, but the Virgin's eyes slid shut.

His young one left him little by little, like a last shuddering breath, and he wept.

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred awoke with his hand pressed firmly against his abdomen, starting at the crack of thunder outside of the carriage’s dark panels. Herbert had drifted off some time ago as well, from the sheer boredom of no longer having a conversational partner, than anything else. The Count, now known to him as Johannes, however, was awake, and Alfred’s sudden start caught his attention.

“Good evening, Alfred.”

He made no response for some time, still attempting to gather himself from the odd nightmare that had taken over his restless sleep.

“Good evening.”

Alfred found the business of traveling without windows to be immensely unnerving. He was grateful for the thick panels that replaced them in the von Krolock's spacious carriage for the protection they offered, but being unable to gaze out at the countryside, even at night, was something he would never grow fully accustomed to.

Still, it wasn't so bad as he sat leaned against the carriage wall, listening to the pounding rain and ice outside. It must have been early evening as Johannes said, but he couldn't tell – the road was empty at all times of the day, and the downpour around them made it hard to hear much else. It was soothing, to sit like that, huddled in the corner in companionable silence. Sleep had come intermittently on the journey – for even in death, Alfred woke easily – but the occasional rest was enough.

Johannes hadn’t spoken to him much since the night on the abandoned farm and Alfred could scarcely blame him. He’d never had an outburst like it in his life, and he especially hadn’t planned on doing so in front of Herbert and his father. They already thought him weak and sensitive because of his recent turning, such thoughts could only be made far worse by the sort of public break down he’d had.

Alfred felt something nudge against his thigh. He startled and looked down – to find the heel of Herbert's boot against his leg. The Viscount had stretched out on the seat beside him and was still deep asleep, and if Alfred had learned anything on their journey, it was that no force could wake Herbert von Krolock without his express permission. Alfred sighed, absently – he would just have to put up with it, he supposed, as Herbert shifted in his sleep and kicked him again.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Alfred grimaced and lied,

“I can manage.”

Herbert kicked him a third time, clearly keen to rid his comfortable bench of Alfred’s presence, as it limited the space for his long, unwieldy legs.

“Are you certain?”

Alfred attempted to re-position himself at first, moving to accommodate Herbert’s boots, but no matter how he shifted, Herbert simply responded by pressing him further into the wall. Johannes chuckled at him,

“I do not think Herbert is in the mood to share.”

Johannes shifted to the side of his own bench and gestured at the empty space beside him.

“There is room here, unless you would prefer the company of Herbert’s heel.”

Less reluctantly than courtesy probably necessitated, Alfred hopped across the aisle to sit beside him. He felt some relief at sitting across from Herbert, rather than having to withstand further pawing and prodding, though he’d become accustomed to Herbert’s wandering hands over the nearly two months they’d spent on the road together. Sitting next to Johannes wasn’t necessarily an improvement, though he could at least appreciate that the Count allowed him some breathing room. Alfred couldn’t determine, apart from courtesy, what had kept him on Herbert’s bench before.

“It must be terribly cold outside. For the horses, I mean.”

Alfred felt Johannes glance at him, though he kept his own gaze trained on Herbert’s slack face. It was rare to catch him un-animated.

“They will get a chance to rest. We have almost come upon Budapest.”

“What’s important about Budapest?”

Alfred startled himself with his own boldness, but, having shed tears upon the man beside him only days before, it was difficult to maintain any kind of fear he may have had.

“The home of my…cousin, Mattheus, is just beyond the city. The winter has been difficult on the horses. They will need the reprieve.”

“How far away do you believe she is?”

They didn’t have to speak Sarah’s name anymore, and Alfred preferred not to when he could avoid it. Johannes and Herbert never had to ask him to clarify.

“We are closer each day. We _will_ find her, and you mustn’t worry.”

Johannes seemed to lean slightly closer to him, leaving only a hair’s breadth between their shoulders. The small gesture, specifically sans touch, was comforting to Alfred, and he was grateful for it. He felt less alone, understood without having to explain himself. An amusing thought entertained itself and, feeling safe enough to ask, Alfred murmured,

“Has he always slept that way?”

Johannes chuckled, nudging Alfred almost inadvertently.

“Yes, in life and after. A festival could make its way into Herbert’s bed chamber and fail to wake him.”

Alfred laughed more loudly than he wanted to, struggling to quiet himself.

“You don’t believe me?”

Alfred waved a hand at him, hoping to dispel Johannes from taking the joke any further.

“HERBERT! NEW STOCKINGS!”

Herbert failed to respond even in the slightest and that undid it, sending Alfred into an uncontrollable spasm of laughter.

“A NEW COAT!”

He pushed against Johannes’ arm, silently pleading for mercy,

“A TRIP TO PARIS!”

“You’ll wake him!”

Alfred managed to croak out between spasms. Even still, Herbert merely turned his back to them, seemingly only mildly annoyed. 

“ _You_ did not believe me.”

It was a fair point, Alfred really hadn’t believed him. In the times before that Herbert had slept at his side, Johannes had allowed Alfred to carefully avoid making noise in fear that he might wake him.

“In fairness, you let me tiptoe around him every time he slept for the past two months.”

“You never asked.”

The air around Alfred felt lighter, easier, and more familiar. He hadn’t laughed since long before landing in the small shtetl with Abronsius, he realized, and not often since leaving university, before then. It was needed and even…healing. Everything had been so bleak for so long, it was such a great relief to feel that burden eased even if only for an instant.

“How far are we from Budapest?”

As if in answer to his query, the horses began to slow to an even trot.

“We have arrived.”

The carriage slowed to a halt, and Herbert finally stirred across from them. Alfred had to resist the urge to laugh as he blinked sleepily over at them.

“Alfred? What are you doing all the way over there?”

“I thought you might want the space.”

Herbert yawned and stretched unceremoniously, somewhat tangled up in his travelling cloak.

“Vati, isn’t he the most lovely and thoughtful boy?”

“He is.”

A very tired-looking servant opened the carriage door for them and Alfred shivered slightly from the chill that entered the carriage. Even the glow of the moon seemed bright to him, after spending so long in complete darkness with the von Krolock family, and though none of them were warm, the wind chilled him right through.

Johannes clambered out of the carriage, followed swiftly and gracefully by Herbert, and Alfred stumbled out behind them, feeling highly out of place by the massive house before them. Glancing around, Alfred could see they were surrounded by sparse trees and fields on all sides, nothing like the dense forest crowding Schloss von Krolock. A very thin, tall man stood alone near the staircase leading to the front doors, fidgeting nervously with a pocket watch.

Something about him was familiar to Alfred, though he couldn’t exactly define what it was. He was gaunt and pale like paper, with stringy black hair that he’d tied back with ribbon. His coat didn’t entirely fit him well, hanging loosely around his shoulders, and he strode haltingly towards them, a limp limiting his movement.

Alfred thought it might be rude to ask who he was before introduction, so he kept his silence, though his curiosity ate at him.

Johannes smiled warmly at the stranger, displaying his array of sharp, white teeth.

“Cousin.”

The stranger nodded at him, and with a rough, mousy voice replied,

“Cousin. We’ve been expecting you.”

He glanced shyly at Herbert,

“We’ve met, Cousin Herbert.”

And re-directed his attention to Alfred, clearly perturbed at his inclusion.

“ _We_ have not.”

Johannes chuckled good-naturedly,

“Oh, excuse me, Mattheus. Alfred is the newest member of our family.”

Alfred strongly resisted the urge to stare at Johannes in pure shock. He likely had reasons for identifying Alfred as such to their host, and any sign of discord would upset the delicate balance they were attempting to strike.

“I see. Hello, Alfred.”

He extended a long-fingered, slim hand for Alfred to touch in greeting. He did so briefly, as a show of courtesy, though Mattheus’ hand was just as clammy as he might have expected, even against his own cool skin.

“What brings… _all_ of you to Budapest, cousin?”

Johannes sighed and gestured broadly.

“The winter is impeding our journey, I am afraid. An errand awaits us in Vienna, but the weather has made such travel difficult. Our horses are worn to the bone.”

Mattheus seemed to glance around them as if to see for himself by a look alone.

“There is room in my stable, though it has not been in use for some time.”

Mattheus extended his long, reaching arm toward the massive house behind him.

“Please, come inside.”

Alfred looked to Herbert as soon as Mattheus’ back was turned to them, aiming a look of utter confusion at him in the hopes that Herbert might take it as a cue to better educate him as to what, exactly, was going on. Herbert glanced back at him, but ignored his look of curiosity entirely. Mattheus wasn’t meant for Alfred’s understanding and, in terms of whatever the von Krolocks were attempting, it was evidently for the better that Alfred was left out of that loop.

The house sprawled before them, massive, and sparsely ornamented, by comparison to Schloss von Krolock. Even for its relative plainness, Alfred had never seen a house of its size before and was awed by the sheer _amount_ of house there was. Even more fascinating than the size, Alfred noted that Mattheus seemed to occupy its large walls all alone, save for a servant or two, and he wondered how such a frail-looking being would manage the upkeep of the house on his own.

They entered through a set of weather-beaten doors that could scarcely keep the cold from the main entryway of the house, no carpenter had seen to their disrepair in some time. Herbert rubbed his arms beneath his cloak and playfully addressed their host,

“Oh, Cousin Mattheus, how do you _live_ in a house so chilly?”

Mattheus glanced over his thin shoulder at him,

“I suppose it helps that I am no longer living. Sigmund will see to the fireplaces of your rooms.”

The exhausted serving man puttered through the main entryway and clambered up the dual stone staircase separating the two wings of the house.

“In the meantime, I will happily provide nourishment to any who may be in need.”

Much to Alfred’s relief, Johannes spoke up for them,

“We have fed within the week, though we appreciate your gracious offer.”

“Cousin, you mean to tell me your young grand-fledgling is satisfied by only one feeding within the week?”

Alfred froze. Grand-Fledgling? An odd term. Herbert stepped closer to him as if to place himself between Alfred and Mattheus, and Johannes did the same.

“I provide more than enough for my charge.”

Mattheus sighed,

“I was not making any sort of wild accusation. I was merely informing you that your little secret hasn’t remained as quiet as desired.”

He waved his hand in the air as he spoke, a gesture Alfred had seen both of the von Krolocks use as they traveled together. Dismissiveness must have been a family trait.

“My servant encountered some old, blathering fool coming down from the mountains. He seemed to have encountered some… _vampires_ there. And a girl.”

Mattheus’ sharp, blue eyes sought Alfred. He felt a sense of triumph at hearing that Abronsius had survived it all. The world seemed a better place with Wilhelm Abronsius in it.

“He lost his assistant, he said.”

Herbert and Johannes exchanged one of their customary glances. Mattheus tore his eyes away from Alfred to level Johannes with his unnerving stare.

“You have control of the situation?”

“Of course.”

“I hope for all of our sakes that you do. How long can I expect to keep your company?”

Alfred watched Johannes ponder for a moment,

“It may well be until this winter has passed, unless you would prefer that we pay you another visit on our way back?”

Mattheus sneered at them, a strangely elegant expression on his features.

“Certainly not. Though should it be needed, we _are_ family…”

Herbert seemed restless to push on, and so he took Alfred at the elbow, ready to take off within the moment.

“Isn’t this quaint, all of us together again? If only Auntie Adelheid were here to see the two of you playing nice.”

“We do not speak that _woman’s_ name in this house.”

Herbert grinned slyly, clearly enjoying playing with Mattheus’ sour temperament.

“Oh, but wouldn’t she just be so pleased to see her darling boy again? You know, she _is_ long overdue for a visit.”

Mattheus’ lip curled in an unfriendly way and he turned his perturbed attention back to Johannes, keen to end Herbert’s fun. Alfred noted with a small smile that Johannes managed to keep a sense of composure, though his amusement sparkled behind his eyes.

“I wish to speak to you, uninhibited. This is a most grave business and I do not appreciate your heir’s current propensity for play.”

Herbert mocked Mattheus with a pout.

“I meant no offense to your character, sweet cousin! You look as though you could use a smile, that’s all.”

“A smile, indeed. I can see your father has been a poor influence on you.”

Johannes tilted his head and tutted disapprovingly,

“Herbert is not fond of courtesy, most unfortunately. He only drove his heel into our poor companion’s leg for the better part of the day.”

Alfred knew if Herbert was capable of blushing in embarrassment, he would. It was a simple slap on the wrist for toying with their host, but it was enough to keep Herbert’s mouth shut.

“In practicing some etiquette, it seems only fair that you might show young Alfred the many fascinations of our cousin’s home, don’t you think?”

“Of course, Vati.”

Herbert nodded his head politely to both of their elders before tugging Alfred alongside by the fast grip he held on his arm. Though he did not wish to be touched, Alfred was all too relieved to allow Herbert to steer him away from their tense family politics.

As they passed through the main entryway, Alfred admired the double staircase that split one half of the great house from the other. It was dark, of course, and lit only by a fair number of candles and torches, but even in the low light, Alfred’s eyes could discern each lovely detail of the massive house. It mimicked a castle with high, vaulted ceilings and the smooth stone that paved the floors. The chilled air moved in a series of drafts within the halls, occasionally causing the ghost of a chill against Alfred’s face.

“So I take it you’re not very fond of each other. You and Mattheus, I mean.”

Herbert snorted at him.

“A gargoyle of a man if I’ve ever known one, and lacking remarkably in wit and charm. He never married, you know.”

“Never?”

“Well, his screeching bat of a mother drove them all away. I imagine your paths may have crossed at our little party.”

“Oh.”

Alfred didn’t have much of a steady memory of the ball, in retrospect. He tried very hard not to think about it for as long as he could hold off, but every now and again, he’d see Sarah’s pained expression in the back of his mind and strain to control his nausea. As kind and hospitable as Herbert and Johannes had been, some part of him still couldn’t forgive them entirely. They would take him to Sarah, and for then, that was all he could ask for. If he couldn’t be with her in life, he’d be with her after it, all the same.

Herbert led him past aging portraits and closed doors, one after another. They made to pass one, larger than the rest, and only slightly more ornate, and Alfred stopped short, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“What’s behind that one?”

Herbert turned back and followed his shy glance to the door,

“Oh, just the library. Come along, love.”

Alfred picked up pace once more, worried to lose Herbert in the unfamiliar halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now introducing: Dad-Jokes von Krolock
> 
> Thanks, as always, for your readership. <3
> 
> Special shout-out this go around to Hamstermoon for the wonderful cover art, which you can view here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/12943275


	11. Chapter 11

 When Alfred finally found a free moment to explore the library, he thought he might nearly combust from his excitement. The others had retired to their separate chambers, Mattheus and Johannes especially seeming to have grown tired from one another. Alfred was almost surprised when Herbert stalked off to his own private chamber at the first chance without inviting him to come along and share the bed. He understood; they’d all seen more than enough of each other over the journey so far and were due to be trapped in the enclosed space together again when they brought Sarah back with them. Still, Alfred felt strangely alone without his companions. He’d rarely been given a moment alone since the start and the longer he spent with his own thoughts, the more he believed being surrounded was better for him. Finding the library sent it all scattering from his mind.

Mattheus’ library was a vast chamber with a raised ceiling, and an ornately carved fireplace glowed with fresh fire, sending warmth spilling in all directions. Overall, despite its size, the library was a cozy place. The furniture was upholstered in a rich, deep red and the tall windows blocked with great, heavy curtains that sealed out any possible light. The room was handsomely cared for and clearly one that Mattheus put to use often, himself. Most importantly, there were books.

Alfred approached one of the shelves to get a closer look at the binding and, sure enough, each book was bound with beautifully cured leather. He extended a hand to allow his fingers to graze the smoothness of a spine. The pressed, golden letters underneath his fingers immediately tugged the corners of his mouth upwards. Alfred hadn’t touched a book since shoving a copy of a romantic advice book into Herbert’s mouth to save himself from his bite. It seemed silly in retrospect, knowing he would live only to be bitten hours later.

The library’s organizational system didn’t take him long to crack and he was on his way to seek out a novel to occupy him for the evening, at the least. Each volume was tempting in its own right, each a vessel for some kind of escape, which Alfred desperately longed for.

He paused at the natural sciences section, wondering somewhat in vain if Professor Abronsius’ book sat somewhere on the many shelves, the same as it had in Schloss von Krolock. He’d already read through it a few times, but in his distance from his former mentor, he wished to read it again just to hear the withering, elderly voice narrating its text in the back of his mind. It was odd to remember that he would likely never sound that way, or at the least, suspension of biological age was a key part of Abronsius’ studies. They’d never been able to prove it, either way.

Alfred continued on past the sciences and climbed the tall ladder that led up to the second level of shelving. If the organizational system was any indication, the myths and folklore would be squeezed into some secret upper corner of the library. Mattheus seemed to care most closely for the classic Greek philosophers, every other subject ranked in lesser order, farther and farther into the depths of the library. By that logic, things like myth and fantasy would have to be in the farthest, highest corner, due to Mattheus’ seldom use.

He selected an old, crumbling volume with distressed binding. Someone had certainly read it a number of times, and the age and wear made it somewhat difficult to handle. The text was old, perhaps ancient, and it sent a shiver running through him to understand that many hands had handled its binding before him, and many eyes perused its contents. Even Mattheus’ drafty old castle of a house had been full of others, once. The thought made him feel a little less lonely.

He carried his newfound treasure with him back down onto the lower level, checking from above for a quiet nook to curl up in. Mattheus’ library was full of them, very few corners remained fully exposed to prying eyes, blocked by another shelf or two.

Alfred was immersed deeply in a grim story of trolls in the far North when he heard the heavy library door move. Hidden behind a shelf and nestled silently in a cool corner of the library, Alfred was unable to see who – or what – had disturbed the door, and so his anxiety mounted as he listened to the footsteps pacing the stone floor. They were measured, even, and nowhere near as hesitant as Mattheus’, ruling him out entirely. It was undoubtedly Herbert prowling the castle to seek out his company, and Alfred wondered mischieviously if he ought to turn the opportunity into some kind of prank.

“You must be greatly enjoying _Skandinavien: Die Mythen._ ”

Alfred tightened his grip around the cover, greatly alarmed to hear Johannes’ voice on the other side of his sheltering bookcase.

“I hope I am not disturbing you.”

He wasn’t sure whether to respond, at first. It would be impolite to leave him waiting.

“N-no.”

Alfred rose to his feet, brushing by the packed-in shelf to reveal himself. Johannes had already chosen his book and was making his way to the seating by the fire, never once glancing in Alfred’s direction, which was a relief. For the most part, though the intrusion made him mildly nervous, Alfred simply wondered what force had motivated Johannes’ decision to join him. Herbert wasn’t interested in the library in the least, even ignoring Alfred entirely when he tried to explain exactly how _wonderful_ such a library was, to him. To have books so greatly cared for, so close within reach was something he hadn’t even experienced at the university.

Johannes beckoned him over, taking the armchair for himself.

“It is much warmer here, by the fire.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

Johannes produced a pair of spectacles from the inside of his jacket and slipped them over the bridge of his nose, peering over the rims at Alfred.

“Where else could I expect to find a young academic within the confines of a palatial home?”

It was a fair point. There wasn’t much else to see or do, though Herbert seemed to keep himself well entertained elsewhere. Alfred was both relieved and worried that Herbert was keeping mostly out of sight. He was certainly getting into trouble, wherever he was.

“You are under no obligation to join me, of course. You’re more than welcome to enjoy your…corner.”

If Alfred felt the sensation of a blush, though he knew no color brightened his cheeks. The lack of blood to cause a flush was one convenient feature of his state, though he knew that Johannes had traveled in close quarters with him long enough to tell when he was embarrassed.

“No, I’ll join you.”

Alfred seated himself at the farthest edge of the unoccupied sofa, concerned that any closer to Johannes’ armchair might be an invasion of his space. He’d wanted Alfred’s company, but likely not just beside him.

“Alfred.”

Johannes glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. It was an odd sight, for a vampire to both have failing eyesight and wrinkles, as light as they were.

“Yes?”

“Have I offended you?”

Alfred shook his head.

“No, of course not.”

Evidently, the space left between them wasn’t as courteous as Alfred had hoped it would be.

“No, I just thought…I don’t mean to be impolite.”

He moved closer in, settling himself in the direct center of the sofa. Alfred couldn’t be convinced to come a centimeter closer, already somewhat outside of his comfort zone reading with company close by.

The book of myths lent itself well to reading after dark, painting images of great trolls roaming the Scandinavian peaks all the way to the Nattmara, the lady were-wolves haunting the dark forests of the far north. Not so far back in his past, Alfred had been certain these creatures didn’t exist. With the added weight of his discovery of vampires and his becoming one of them, he wasn’t definitively sure any longer.

“Do you suppose…these myths…do you think they could be true?”

Johannes glanced at him, a light twinkle in his eye.

“What do _you_ think?”

“Well, I thought that vampires were a myth. By all scientific accounts, there is no possible way for us to exist.”

Johannes nodded, seeming to parse through Alfred’s statement, though he felt somewhat condescended to. Surely a vampire that had been walking the earth for at least a century would know whether or not trolls existed or if vampires had some scientific explanation.

“I want to ask a question.”

“Go on.”

Alfred felt his brows knit as he considered the least rude way to pose such a question.

“How long have you been…this way?”

“I assume you mean to ask, ‘How long have I been a member of the legion of the undead?’”

Alfred nodded silently, on the edge of his seat.

“It is difficult to keep a count. My years have been so many.”

Johannes seemed to tally the decades in his head, thinking through the age that had passed in his un-lifetime,

“My time in the darkness has far surpassed my time in the sun, though for the sake of my pride, I cannot disclose _exactly_ how long that may be.”

He smiled, almost to himself.

“If I were to make an exception and estimate that number for you, I might say somewhere over three hundred years… _If_ I were to make an exception, of course.”

“Three _hundred_?”

Alfred struggled to control his facial expression, alternating between a shock and fascination. Three hundred years, Alfred could end up walking the earth, watching monarchs and empires rise and fall. The discoveries he could make in three hundred years, the things he could accomplish - the potential was absolutely endless. Johannes surely hadn’t spent all of it ruling as a lord over the same lands, not when there was so much to be seen and done in that time.

“It was only estimation, Alfred; you needn’t puzzle over it unnecessarily.”

“It’s just…three hundred years is such a long time. Haven’t you seen the world over already?”

Johannes shook his head slowly.

“I’m afraid not. Herbert and I are not particularly adventurous.”

He shut his book and removed his reading glasses, fixing Alfred with a focused stare.

“Our culture – our way of life – can attract certain kinds of individuals. You would not want to make their acquaintance.”

Johannes leaned forward and Alfred found himself leaning to better hear him as he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper.

“There are vampires, like us, who have not severed their ties to their humanity. We can enjoy the simple pleasures such as companionship, and a good book. The others…their pleasures have higher stakes.”

“What sort of higher stakes?”

Alfred whispered back.

“I would not share any more with you, my young friend. It is simply important that you understand what lies beyond these walls. The dangers are not worth the pleasures to be had.”

Alfred pondered over the strangeness of Johannes’ statement.

“What…sorts of pleasures are there to be had?”

The corner of Johannes’ lip tweaked upwards in a muted expression of amusement.

“Oh! I don’t mean anything untoward! I just mean…I haven’t traveled much. I thought I was just getting started on my adventures, with Professor Abronsius.”

Johannes studied him,

“You are. You have only just embarked upon eternity.”

Alfred knew he was right. Whatever adventures he thought he might have as a mortal could be multiplied tenfold within an eternity, though the thought of continuing such a journey without Abronsius was disappointing. He wasn’t alone, at the least. Once they had Sarah, she’d go with him, or so he hoped.

It wouldn’t be the same as it could have been, of course, given their circumstances. Part of him wanted, still, to be angry with Johannes, and vengeful, but it was difficult to maintain such feelings of hostility. Johannes had been nothing but kind to him, he’d given Alfred reason to trust him, and he included Alfred as an equal party in the search for Sarah. Johannes wanted to find her as much as he did, Alfred understood, and working together could only help their endeavor.

“Can you…still feel her? Sarah?”

“We are not far from her now, and I have sent Sigmund into the city to make some enquiries on our behalf. It is all we can do, in light of this delay.”

Alfred wanted to feel more disappointed, he truly did. It was difficult, however, to find that disappointment while enjoying a full, warm library with no other pressing engagement to occupy him. He hadn’t had an opportunity for a quiet evening in months, let alone one that included true conversation, and not a lecture. Admittedly, Johannes was decent company. He always allowed Alfred his space, and seemed to be a fount for fascinating knowledge.

Alfred traced his fingers along the lettering on the cover of the book of myths. Un-living paper bound by un-living flesh. He passed a glance at Johannes, who had taken to reading silently once more, and found himself wishing he had the courage to seek the stories he had to tell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as usual to goldfish3d for generally existing, but also for her help. 
> 
> Please don't be afraid to comment likes and dislikes, I'd love to hear from you guys!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, all!
> 
> An update, my Christmas gift to you!
> 
> Just a note: My next update will likely take a bit longer to reach you as I am going out of town for 8 days to visit my family and won't have very much time to sit down and write. I'll work on as much as I can until I leave on Wednesday so y'all don't have to wait too long. ;)

Herbert emerged again near the end of their first month in Mattheus’ great house. Alfred happened to be walking into the entryway when Herbert swept in through the front door, parcels in hand. Alfred found himself strangely pleased to see him, though he couldn’t say he’d been at a loss for company in his absence. Still, being that Alfred’s sole companions had been Johannes and his son for several months, Herbert’s elusiveness in the previous weeks had drawn Alfred’s attachment to him closer to the surface.

“You’re back!”

Alfred exclaimed, slightly rushing over the last two steps. Herbert smiled cheerfully at him and waved his parcels.

“I come bearing gifts!”

He’d needed the fresh air, evidently, as his demeanor seemed far more relaxed, and his cheeks were lightly flushed. Alfred tried to ignore his own hunger, but it was difficult, seeing Herbert looking so well fed.

“You went into the city?”

“ _Of course!_ I can’t bear to stay shut up in this drafty, old beggar’s palace.”

Alfred had wanted to explore the city as well, but wasn’t sure how to go about doing such a thing on his own. Somehow the thought of Herbert accompanying him made the idea far worse. He wasn’t entirely sure Herbert would keep him free of trouble,

“Don’t you want your gift, dear?”

Herbert extended a small blue parcel to him, smiling mischievously.

“Whatever is in there won’t bite me, will it?”

“Goodness, I shouldn’t think so. I don’t _believe_ it will, though I’m sure some creativity could take you a long way.”

Alfred finally took the gift out of politeness and with an ounce or so of fear. The paper was lovely, at the least, light blue and thin with beautiful detailing printed across its surface in a pattern of birds and flowers. An even lovelier golden ribbon was tied across the top for decoration. It was thoughtful of him to bring Alfred anything at all, and Alfred wondered momentarily if it was Herbert’s way of earnestly trying to befriend him.

“It’s very beautiful.”

Herbert raised an eyebrow playfully.

“I didn’t purchase the wrappings alone, you silly boy. Try opening it.”

Alfred did as he was bid, tugging the ribbon’s end out of place and pulling aside the paper as gently as he could. He’d never been given anything as beautifully wrapped, having come from comfortable, but not extravagant, means. He wondered, with such a fine outer shell, what sort of trinket Herbert could have procured for him.

“Why for me?”

Herbert rolled his eyes playfully.

“There has to be a _reason_ for me to spoil you, cheri?”

Alfred shrugged easily. It was a fair point. A gift is a gift.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Go on, then. I think you’ll like it.”

Alfred lifted the lid of the small box and peered underneath carefully. A vivid, moss green silk peered back at him with light, hair thin gold details woven into the fabric. It was one of the most beautiful things Alfred had ever seen. He was sure his shock and surprise registered on his face because Herbert grinned at him,

“You like it, I take it?”

“W-well it’s beautiful. I don’t know what else to say except to thank you for it.”

Herbert touched his face fondly.

“Say nothing, then.”

Alfred felt himself step backwards involuntarily. Herbert’s warm demeanor changed and he withdrew his hand quickly.

“Oh, darling, I am sorry! I did not mean to frighten you.”

“No, no it’s alright. You’ve done nothing wrong, I just…I don’t want you to have the wrong impression.”

Herbert sulked.

“I know. Sarah.”

He stepped closer to Alfred to loom over him, his bright, citrusy perfume irritating Alfred’s sensitive nose. Alfred hadn’t noticed it before, being more accustomed to the lightly musty smell they all seemed to have. It wasn’t unpleasant, but he certainly preferred the liveliness of the applied scent, even if it was oppressive.

“…but she isn’t here, is she?”

Herbert brushed a hand gently along his arm.

“Don’t you want someone to hold you from time to time?”

Alfred laughed nervously and ducked away from him, clutching at the box in his hands until his knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry. I just…I can’t.”

Herbert looked mildly disappointed, but sighed gently,

“It is quite alright, my dear Alfred. I know that Sarah has vexed you terribly, but I hope that…should you need _company_ , you would know where to find it.”

Alfred nodded and held the box back out towards Herbert,

“Do you…want your gift back?”

“I will be personally insulted if you don’t accept. It goes so well with those lovely long eyelashes of yours and your pretty brown eyes. I could go on.”

Herbert wiggled his eyebrows at him good-naturedly, but Alfred felt troubled accepting such a thing without Sarah knowing. Strings certainly came attached, and he didn’t want Herbert to believe he would one day fall into his arms.

“You are so kind to give something like this to me.”

“Kindness has little to do with it.”

Herbert replied with some mirth in his voice. He produced a timepiece from his waistcoat pocket and glanced at the time.

“Darling, I must run. I’ve a dear friend to meet tonight...We have a little tete-a-tete planned. You won’t say a word to Vati, will you?”

Alfred shook his head.

“No need to worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Herbert winked and before Alfred could dart away, left a quick kiss against his cheek.

“Pretty things come at a cost, I know. I’ve more than enough experience playing along with such rules. Vati, however, does not approve. I’m sure you understand.”

Alfred nodded quickly, anxious to send Herbert on his way. Even when his life wasn’t on the line, Herbert’s affection was unnerving.

“I knew you would, love. I’ll be back before morning. Can’t have you getting too lonely and bored here without me.”

As if he’d never come back at all, Herbert had slipped out again, leaving only a pile of parcels and bags in his place. Alfred glanced down at the box in his own hands. He wasn’t even sure what sort of thing Herbert had hoped to ply his affection with.

Alfred closed the box and made to seek out Sigmund, or some other possible serving man to look to Herbert’s purchases. The serving folk seemed to come and go from Mattheus’ home quickly and quietly, and Alfred never could discover the exact number of footmen in his employ. Mattheus likely preferred things that way. He seemed the sort to keep a low profile, using his privacy as a shield against…well, _something_. Aside from Christians, curious professors, and strong men in possession of stakes, Alfred wasn’t sure what sort of things a vampire had to fear. The few threats seemed fairly rare. No mobs had come pounding on Mattheus’ door, and Alfred hadn’t seen any sharpened stakes since the night of his last feeding.

He tried to keep it out of his mind, pushing against not only the weight of that horror, but the weight of the others he’d witnessed that year as well. Professor Abronsius had given him more than fair warning, in respect to their profession. Studying blood-sucking creatures of the night meant a certain level of hand-dirtying. Although Alfred hadn’t planned at the outset of his university years to be dealing firsthand with hell-beasts, he’d felt called to speak to the strange Professor who couldn’t hang on to an assistant.

Alfred remembered seeing the posting for the third time in his final year, wondering if it had been a mistake or if, yet again, Abronsius was seeking someone new.

He’d wandered into the Professor’s office one afternoon near the end of term. He was out of ideas and at the end of his rope, and he’d been looking for field work beneath senior members of the faculty for the entire year only to be turned away time and time again. Most of them didn’t have too much use for anthropology students, seeking instead those dedicated to the study of the exact sciences and arithmetic. Therefore, when Abronsius posted for new help yet another time, Alfred understood that it was his only option, should the Professor choose to take him.

In that moment, staring at the postings in the warm, close sciences corridor, Alfred could not have imagined in wildest dreams that he would be standing in a vampire lord’s foyer a little over a year hence. Specifically, he hadn’t imagined standing in the foyer amongst so many parcels, like Christmas morning. Alfred gave up the idea of seeking out any servants and simply left Herbert’s gifts where they were. They weren’t truly his concern; he’d only agreed to hold his tongue.

Alfred tucked his gift neatly behind his back and started the trek back towards his chamber. The room was fairly cozy, with many nooks in which Alfred could safely tuck the item away and pretend he’d never seen it. His curiosity still badgered him to, at the least, determine what it was.

Alfred paused near the door to his chamber and separated the smooth, light item from its box, pleasantly surprised to find that it was a very showy scarf. It wasn’t the sort of thing Alfred could wear to keep warm, but he enjoyed its lively green and gold and felt touched that Herbert had thought of him.

Hiding it was easy, a simple matter of folding it within the lowest corner of the fairly bare wardrobe Alfred attempted to put to use. If nothing else, the scarf would make a pleasant addition to the neutral colors of Alfred’s limited wardrobe. Most of his clothing was borrowed from Schloss von Krolock, and at any rate, its original wearer was most likely long dead.

A knock sounded on his chamber door and Alfred wondered if Herbert had stuck around in the hopes that he could catch him there. He called carefully from his spot in front of the open wardrobe,

“…who is it?”

“It is only me, Alfred.”

Johannes voice sounded from behind the warped wood. Anxiety twisted in his gut.

“Oh. Just a moment.”

Alfred obscured the gift behind the doors of the wardrobe and took a heavy breath before crossing to the door and revealing Johannes.

“I hope I am not disturbing you.”

Alfred shook his head and attempted to wear a polite smile.

“Not at all. I was just…straightening the wardrobe.”

Alfred knew how strange it sounded as soon as he’d said it aloud. This didn’t seem to deter Johannes’ attention at all, and he treated Alfred’s awkwardness with the usual sense of grace and poise he carried everywhere with him.

“Of course. That is quite important, I am sure.”

Johannes cleared his throat,

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve paid you a visit.”

Alfred struggled to find a polite response.

“I suppose I am.”

Johannes produced a slim volume from behind his back and something like mild embarrassment crossed his face.

“It is very difficult for me to admit when I am wrong and...”

Alfred had never seen him so unsure of himself, and though watching Johannes fumble for words made him feel intensely awkward, he was somewhat charmed.

“I was very unkind to you, before. It seems only fair that I should apologize to you properly.”

Johannes’ expression took on an earnest air,

“I know that this change has been difficult for you and I cannot imagine how alone you must feel.”

Alfred watched as his long fingers traced the lettering of the front cover delicately and Johannes continued,

“I thought you might enjoy a little distraction.”

He extended his arm to offer Alfred the book. Alfred’s discomfort increased exponentially when he spotted the title.

“Herbert informed me that you quite enjoyed this novel.”

“Oh- I…”

Alfred considered, for a brief moment, explaining that Herbert had likely been speaking sarcastically due to the fact that Alfred’s last encounter with _Advice For Lovers_ had included firmly shoving it into Herbert’s mouth, but he decided instead that it was entirely too thoughtful of a gift to receive such a response.

“Thank you.”

“I know that this alone cannot make up for my, frankly, beastly behavior, but I would like to start.”

Something behind Johannes’ eyes sent a warm flush through Alfred’s chest and he nodded earnestly in return.

“I-I forgive you… I wasn’t very kind to you, either.”

Alfred fought the urge to squirm under his gaze.

“The both of you have done nothing but help me. I’m more than grateful to you.”

Alfred ducked his head, ashamed,

“…and I especially regret calling _you_ selfish.”

Johannes smiled warmly at him.

“You have no reason to apologize. We are all guilty of speaking from our pain, and you have suffered a great deal in such a short time.”

Alfred nodded silently, at a loss for words. He felt smaller, and he held the book close to his chest for comfort. Satisfied by their exchange, Johannes backed away from him, and Alfred realized then that they had somewhat closed the space between them.

“I should leave you to your wardrobe.”

“W-what? Oh! Yes…I suppose I should finish up.”

Alfred could feel the ghost of a blush around his ears as Johannes eyes’ started to sparkle with his amusement.

“If it does not keep you occupied for too long, might I catch you in the library tonight?”

Something like giddiness bubbled in Alfred’s chest and he couldn’t control the smile that erupted across his face.

“Y-you very well might.”

With more bravery, Alfred continued,

“But I shall have to finish this important task.”

Johannes raised a brow playfully.

“If you insist.”

Johannes made for the door and, without turning back to glance at him, called,

“And Alfred? You ought to bring that book. I _am_ curious to hear a selection or two.”

Once Johannes had safely passed into the hall, Alfred sunk into the wall nearest. He tried, as he caught his nervous breath, to determine the nuances of what could only be defined as flirtation with Count von Krolock. He hadn’t intended such a thing, and wouldn’t have engaged it, left to his own devices.

However, Alfred did enjoy his attention when it was bestowed. He knew he would be lying to himself to pretend that he hadn’t noticed Johannes at all. Alfred had been fascinated by his bizarre alternation between stoicism, warm humor, and abject misery from the beginning of their journey. He’d also been, admittedly, drawn in by a sort of attraction he felt too scared to explore further. Something about Johannes had appealed to him since their first meeting, though Alfred was loath to admit to it.

He had plenty of time to think it all over against his bedchamber wall. Not too much time, though, as Johannes certainly expected him in the library, and Alfred couldn’t find the will to disappoint him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence, y'all! I've finished applying to transfer my schooling here to North Carolina and I finally got a chance to finish this chapter for you. <3

Vienna was colder than Sarah had remembered as she scrambled through the near-silent streets. Most respectable folk – what little of them there _were_ in the city – had long since gotten off of the street for the night and were resting soundly in the safety of their homes. In the eerie quiet, Sarah clung to the dark edges of the buildings and glanced behind herself every so often. Edmund had not given her chase from Eliza’s, though like everything else Edmund had done thus far, his lack of interest in following her was deeply troubling.

Sarah wondered if she’d truly managed to injure him and what, exactly, Eliza’s response would be. Yet again, Sarah had drawn blood where she shouldn’t have, and had to worry whether she’d face consequences for it. She wasn’t sure where she could expect to turn. She’d already run away once, from her parents, and then again when she’d wronged the Count and killed dear Alfred.

Sarah knew in the deepest part of her heart that she’d reconsider Alfred’s foolish proposal if she could erase the time passed and do all of it again. She couldn’t have loved him, not at first, but she would have enjoyed his company. He had been handsome and lively, even if a little bookish. Having a smart and accomplished husband wasn’t exactly a sin in the eyes of the other lady villagers, and certainly not in the eyes of her parents, Alfred’s gentility notwithstanding. But now, in the blackness of the Vienna streets, even her lighthearted daydreams felt impossible.

Slithering through the shadows like a serpent, she glanced around herself and then up, at the looming towers of St. Stephen’s. Sarah hadn’t meant to wander as far as _Stephansplatz,_ and the brush of her tongue over her teeth reminded her that she hadn’t applied her proper disguise. Anxiety stirred inside her - vampires that wandered close enough to churches often met grisly ends, she knew.

Though it wasn’t often spoken of, she’d heard the whisperings of the villagers, growing up. She’d heard the men discuss it: the killing of vampires. None of them had ever been brave enough to cross the Count himself, but they’d caught similar interlopers and “taken care” of the problem in a mob of frightened boys and men. Only her father had truly respected and honored the Count’s wishes and refused to join in on the mobs, so as not to fall out of favor with the local nobility. Unflinching loyalty served an obscure innkeeper well, most times, and her father did anything the Count asked.

Sarah shivered, reminded once more of her grave mistake and the consequences that surely waited should she ever be found. It seemed that Edmund had hung back, but she had no confident way of knowing for certain, and she glanced up at the church. The other choices for shelter couldn’t do anything for her - Edmund could easily tear down an average door with his strength, and alleyways only served to leave her cornered and in a better position yet for capture or attacks. From what she understood, most vampires struggled at the sight of the cross, and she’d seen girls at the house recoil from rare visitors who carried the rosary.

There was no other choice, in the immediate area, and Sarah began to feel a creeping anxiety that Edmund was only waiting out of sight. He’d done it many times in the house, and though the outside air made it difficult to smell anyone clearly, she thought she caught the ghost of his scent on a breeze.

Sarah made for a small door near the side of the great cathedral and found herself in a sort of pseudo-prayer. Her thoughts ran wild in a gentle plea, begging for some kind of protection, just until she could reach the door. The iron handle felt ice cold beneath her own chilled fingers, but did not burn her as she feared it might. Not even standing so close to the church’s threshold did she feel any sense of danger or an impending threat, aside from the one she was leaving behind her in the darkness of the city streets. She sucked in a deep breath and held it as she crossed the threshold, anxious not to delay a moment longer.

To her surprise and relief, she did not catch fire, and her eyes did not burn, though the sign of the cross was the first object to greet her in the small entryway. She’d rarely seen crosses during life, and once she’d been reborn to the darkness, she was constantly looking for them, afraid to find out their effects on her. Ilse had warned her about them, and warned her never to touch them, and never to look too closely, but keeping her eyes fixed on the crucifix by the door, Sarah felt absolutely nothing. Even her fear of Edmund lost hold as she looked on and felt the glaring emptiness of the cross’ threat.

Sarah girded herself and stepped from the hallway into the sanctuary, and for a moment, she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the ornate chamber around her. She’d never seen such a grand and detailed place. Even the Count’s castle paled in comparison to the dark and esoteric beauty of St. Stephen’s. She started down the aisle, gazing into the unlit rafters, until a voice broke the stillness.

“Darling.”

The voice was Eliza’s, and its presence in the unfamiliar territory sent a chill down Sarah’s spine.

“What a pleasant surprise it is to find you here.”

Sarah turned and saw her then, near the main altar. Eliza was cloaked in black, and her dark locks flowed free from their usual bonds, framing her lovely features. Her eyes stood out like polished black marbles in the darkness of the sanctuary. Sarah swallowed and asked,

“Were you looking for me?”

Eliza smiled and the white of her long, sharp fangs shone brightly against the deep red of her lips. If Sarah didn’t know better, she’d think Eliza some kind of animal.

“I am afraid I didn’t realize you were missing to begin with, dear. Have I treated you horribly?”

Sarah swallowed, hard, against a lump in her throat and fought the urge to step backwards although Eliza was nowhere near her.

“Not at all! I am so grateful for all that you’ve given me, Eliza, truly.”

Eliza cast her unnerving eyes away, to Sarah’s relief, and sighed.

“I know that living with my brother presents its challenges, sweetling, and for that, I am sorry.”

Sarah nodded slowly, keeping her eyes trained steadily on her mistress. It was difficult to look away from her in that wild and untethered state. Sarah hadn’t seen Eliza outside of her glamour once in all of the time she’d spent living under the same roof.

“You know that you can tell me _anything_ in the world that you wish, don’t you?”

Sarah shifted her weight from one foot to the other and prepared herself to speak her truth.

“Edmund attacked me tonight.”

Eliza’s smile fell slack and Sarah thought she saw something flash behind the glimmer of her bottomless eyes.

“ _Oh?_ ”

“He said he wanted to _hunt_ me.”

Eliza took no breath before asking in a frighteningly even tone,

“And what did you tell him?”

Sarah felt herself stand taller, prouder.

“He will not be hunting me.”

Eliza grinned at her once more, fearsome and wolfish.

“And what a proud lioness you are, my girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my co-writer and editor, Jade!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] for "An Independent Will" by penhales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943275) by [Hamstermoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamstermoon/pseuds/Hamstermoon)




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